Out of the Blue The 79th Hunger Games
by ImmyRose
Summary: "Me? I'm the District's little rebel, everyone back home knew who I was. Nobody ever left me alone in District Three, why would it be any different here?" In a world where Katniss Everdeen did not win the Hunger Games, they still continue five years onwards. But this year - although it's not a Quarter Quell - the President plans to introduce a twist that nobody saw coming.
1. Prologue

**The 79th Hunger Games**

Prologue

_During the 74th Annual Hunger Games..._

**_Katniss Everdeen,_**

**_District Twelve,  
_**

"Clove!" Cato's voice is frighteningly close now. Judging by the pain and uncertainty in it, I can tell that he sees her on the ground.

"You better run now, Fire Girl," says Thresh.

I don't need to be told twice. I flip over and my feet dig into the hard-packed earth as I run away from Thresh and Clove and the sound of Cato's voice. Trying to run away from the nightmare that had taken place at the Cornucopia a mere few minutes ago. Only when I reach the woods do I turn back for an instant. Thresh and both large backpacks are vanishing over the edge of the pain into the area I've never seen. Cato is kneeling over Clove, desperately whispering to her. He'll soon realise it's pointless. He's holding her hand, a gentle look on his face that contrasts sharply against the arrogance he had always projected. For a moment, I'm reminded of when I held Rue's hand in that meadow, singing her to sleep. Then he looks up and our eyes meet.

That's when I start running for real. He saw me. Cato saw me.

It seems like every root is making an effort to trip me up, every branch slapping me in the face, every step I take is like wading though quicksand.

He saw me.

I'm still trying to run away, loping like the injured deer that I am with blood obscuring my vision and a wolf on my tail. My entire world has shrunk to the thudding of my feet – my feet which make no attempts at being quiet just as long as I get to Peeta alive – and the blood steadily pouring down my face and mixing with the mud. Mixing in with the fear and confusion, I stumble though the forest, disorientated. I've dropped my bow and I stop for a few moments, fumbling around to pick it up with uncooperative fingers. My world is spinning like a kaleidoscope from the steady loss of blood from the wound Clove gave me.

I didn't do anything to prevent her death. Clove was trying to kill me, pinning me to the ground and preparing to turn my face into a nightmare. He would be after me. Could I stop now, just for a second? I didn't have Cato's backpack, Thresh did. Thresh had killed Clove, hadn't he? Cato would surely go after –

A branch snapped and my head whips around. It came from my right, otherwise I wouldn't be able to hear it. It's enough to get me running again. It seems like it'll never stop, me being the hunted while the hunter laughs. Firstly it's me, running from the Peace-keepers back home. Then it's just me against the Capitol. They already have me trapped. Now they've set Cato on me and he's not going to give up. It seems like my entire life has consisted of running but now I have no choice. I'm in no state to fight anyone. There's only a few of us left now; Cato, Foxface, Thresh, Peeta and me. Any one of them could easily knock me to the floor and end my life. Except that Peeta is on my side, Foxface is on the other side of the forest and Thresh is in the fields.

Cato, he's here. Cato's here and he's going to kill me if I stay still for too long.

It's that fact that keeps my legs moving, although they burn with every movement. Burning because I am the Girl on Fire and the Capitol are waiting for that fire to turn on me.

All I can hear is the erratic beat beat of my heart and my footsteps, which are slowing down as I hear nothing else. Not even the twittering of birds. I slow down until I ground to a halt in front of a tree. I recognise the tree, the dried shell of the tracker-jacker nest. Bad memories swarm around here like a swarm of invisible tracker-jackers, waiting to overpower me with fear. I remember hiding up there, injured, while the Careers surrounded me while Peeta hung by the sides – Peeta!

I have the bag. Peeta's going to be okay, as soon as I get back to the cave then he'll be okay, he'll be alive and back to his normal –

Pain blossoms in my stomach as I'm flung though the air and into the tree. I look down and to my horror, there's a spear though my stomach, embedded into the tree. I'm literally stuck to the tree by the spear. Every movement, even breathing, hurts so much. My mouth opens in pain but no sound comes out. If any did then I can't hear it. The spear is yanked viciously out of the tree and I'm dropped into the waiting arms of my killer, Cato. My limbs are lifeless, limp like a rag doll as he shoves me harshly onto the forest floor.

"Looks like the Girl on Fire's about to be extinguished," Cato smirks, kicking me in the stomach, sending another tidal wave of agony though my chest, and splattering blood on his boot, "District Twelve isn't going to be going home this year." He gestures to my backpack.

The fire that I was named for returns and I give him a snide remark back, "Neither is Clove." I manage to gasp back, my defiant tone ruined by my breathy voice.

He stops being amused and before I can blink, he swings his foot at my ribs. I hear a popping sound and wince slightly in pain – at least two ribs were broken from the force of the impact. Any chance of me escaping have disappeared when he did that. Now I'm completely at his mercy. Completely at the mercy of the tribute who wants me dead the most.

_"I kill her in my own way, and nobody interferes."_ Cato's words echo in my head, mocking me.

Since everybody else is dead, nobody's going to interfere now. No Peeta in shining armour and chivalric manners was going to run in and take out Cato for me. I'm on my own. Completely on my own.

Cato smirks at me, his good mood making a reappearance, "You know, I've wanted this ever since you dropped that tracker-jacker nest on us," He says in a conversational tone, like we're eating lunch out in a park, "Every night, I watched the sky, hoping nobody would take the joy of me killing you away from me," His eyes are fixated on mine, a triumphant grin twisting his lips. It's terrifying how much he's enjoying this, "You blew up the supplies, didn't you?" When I don't reply, he slaps me, "Answer!" He orders.

Just to be slightly rebellious, I nod instead of saying something. His eyes light up, "Didn't do you much good, did it?" He asks but I get the impression that I'm not supposed to answer. I do have one though but my voice seems to be in my throat, incapable of escaping, like my words are stuck to my throat with glue. He notices this and looks annoyed, "Can you even speak?" He asks me, no concern in his voice, not that I was expecting any. I try again to make a coherent sentence. This time a choked gargle is released, which is answer enough.

His face darkens and he picks up his spear again. Looks like I've ruined his fun, "You're already dead then," He points out, "Might as well let you and Lover boy be reunited in heaven," He prepares to plunge the spear into my heart.

"At least I'll go to heaven." I finally get a few words out, in defiance of my current condition, as the spear enters my chest. However, I doubt this very much. I've killed, I've lied, I've stole my way though this life.

Cato glares at me, "Like you're so great." He sounded angry, a scowl etched on his face as he rips out the spear, "You had nothing. Nothing," He spits out, "You're from District Twelve, the coal district. The freaking coal district." He seems lost for words and I'm surprised at the depth of his bitterness, "You had nothing," He repeats, "And yet you got an eleven. A eleven. I trained my entire life for this and I only received a ten. You got an eleven and you, and you..." He trails off, struggling to complete his sentence. He gives up and changes it altogether, "What makes you so special?" He asks me, nudging me with a boot for an answer. If he wants one, none is forthcoming. "You had nothing. And you're here, same as me." He shakes his head, not really paying any attention to me as he vents his feelings out on someone. Someone who you had just killed, but still a person, "You didn't really have a choice, not in your mind."

I was about to say – or try and say – that I didn't have to volunteer but when he says the last part, my mind flies back to my sister. My little sister.

It was all for Prim. Selling her baby clothes so that she could have a slice of bread on the table, buying her the goat, Lady, volunteering for her at the Reaping. I was only trying to keep her alive. At least I've succeeded. She's back at home with my mother and Gale and Peeta's father to feed her. If only the burden of the world wasn't going to be dumped upon her little shoulders at thirteen. Why did Effie have to reap her? Did she have any idea of what would happen to my family when she pronounced, loud and clear "Primrose Everdeen"?

And suddenly I'm not in the arena anymore. I'm back home in District Twelve, deep in the recesses of the woods, far, far away from the prying eyes of the Capitol. Up on the very top branches of a tree is my ally and friend, Rue. Not Prim, Rue. I do not know why, maybe it's because Rue was the closest I had to a human confidante in the arena. Maybe it's because Rue is dead while Prim, sweet little Prim, is still alive.

Rue's singing to me, singing like I sung to her as she slowly slipped away from me. Although I have never heard Rue sing that song to me, here I can hear her voice bright and vibrant as she repeats the same verse of the lullaby to me as my world starts to flicker with shards of black.

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow,_  
_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow,_

Below me, I can feel the grass against my skin, tickling me like fingers as the breeze stirs a few of the grass blades to stroke my arms gently. I smile at Rue, forgetting that she's starting to go a little blurry, who grins back at me with an innocence that reminds me of Prim. She's not here and my smile fades. Where is she? I think, but only a faint twang of concern runs though me as I start to feel sleepy.

_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes,_  
_And when again they open, the sun will rise._

Any traces of stress roll off me like rain rolls off one of those cars you find in the Capitol. It's a nice, warm day and it'll be perfect to just close my eyes for a few hours in the kind sun rays. In the distance, I can hear a constant murmuring but no matter how hard I strain my ears, I still can't make out any words.

Oh well, it doesn't really matter. I try and laugh but a jagged breath of air being let out is the only thing that I can manage. Looking down, I see a spear protruding from my chest. Now my vision is fading, fading like paint fades when you dab a wet tissue onto a picture repeatedly. Watching the colours merge together into sludge, meaningless sludge that is abandoned for the clear, strong colours that remain untainted. Untouchable. Maybe that's all I was. Sludge, being cleared away so the Capitol can marvel at the pretty colours of the victor and laughing as they push and push and push until the victor breaks into nothing. They've succeeded with me, haven't they? They've succeeded with so many others before. Now I will be nothing and they will be everything.

Then I see Rue. She's in front of me, still smiling while holding out a hand. Without hesitation I grip it and her eyes light up.

"Thank you," She whispers before I take my final breath. Rue's smile is the last thing I see before I am enveloped by the darkness.

_**Cato Warner, **_

**_District Two,_  
**

As the spear pierced her heart, as her cannon fired, the small orange backpack she held in one hand fell to the ground, her mouth moving like she was trying to say something but no sound came out.

I didn't feel sorry. Well why would I – plenty of other rats like her from the lower districts had died at my hands. However, I didn't feel triumphant as I had with the other kills. If Clove was here, I would be dancing in joy at being instrumental in the downfall of the fabricated 'star-crossed lovers' from District 12. If Clove was here, I would shout to the skies my victory over the one tribute who outscored me, who dropped a nest of tracker-jackers on me, who had blown up my supplies and killed at least three of my pack.

If Clove was here...

But she isn't, a snide voice whispered in my mind, because Thresh killed her. You could have won together if you hadn't tried to kill District Five. You could have stopped her dying but you didn't.

"Shut up," I mutter, "It doesn't matter because I'm going to kill him anyway." Then I stopped talking as I realised that talking to yourself wasn't exactly a sign of sanity. I doubted that anyone would have classed me as sane before the Games. I couldn't doubt that they had a point, it was just the way that they thought that I was inferior to them because I had a different view on life to them.

Kill or be killed.

I remember snapping that wimpy boy's neck like a twig. And I enjoyed it. Now I just felt empty. If I had to kill District Three over again, I would still do it. I just wouldn't care. That's why I hadn't bothered giving the Girl on Fire a slow, purposeful death. I just wanted for all of this to be over, so that I could actually mourn the loss of Clove without the whole world watching me. Without my every move being analysed for the Capitol reporters to eat up. The sooner the better. That was why.

I walked over, unzipped the backpack and a small syringe fell out onto my outstretched palm. Soon it was nothing but a mess as I crushed it under one boot. Now the other romantic fool would die too. Grinning, I raised my head to the sky and yelled "I'm coming for you Thresh. You'd better watch out!". As I spoke, clouds rolled across the horizon and the first few drops of rain fell on my face like tears. If I wasn't in the arena, I could almost believe that the forest was mourning Clove's death as well. If only.

I guess she still was here, I thought bitterly. Just a few feet away with a large dent in her head, brown eyes still open and as blank as a doe's. Only a few feet away was where she had taken her last breath. Stretching out a hand, I close her eyes. Even then, she doesn't look like she's asleep. She still doesn't look like she's resting in peace. Well it's not difficult to see why.

It's only now that I realise that the arena kills twenty-four, not twenty-three tributes each year, your mind, your body or your soul. If you were really unlucky, you lost all three.

Two days and only one cannon later, I found him. Well actually he found me first, if the rather large rock aimed for my head was any indicator. I ducked and it settled a few feet to my left. On closer observation, it looked suspiciously like the same rock that had ended Clove's life. Except he had tried to throw it. Anger boiled in me: the coward didn't even have the guts to face me directly? My head spun around and I glared at the tall imposing shape near a bush in the field of grasses that would mark out one of our demise's. Namely, District Eleven's. He took a few steps forward and took out a admittedly impressive-looking sword which must have come from sponsors. I drew out mine and immediately lunged for his chest, no longer having to glance around to see if the Girl on Fire was ready to shoot with a bow and arrow. Of course he dodged. I guess three easy kills in a row is too much to ask for. Why couldn't he just make it simple for me? Well I already knew the answer, he hadn't lost yet. He's still alive, still sane and still unbroken. He's still fighting for the simplistic ideals, money, fame and your life. I'm just fighting for my life.

We circled each other, swords drawn, the world reduced to just him and the arena. I lunged again but slipped slightly on the grass and missed. While I was distracted, he raked his sword down my arm and a thin trickle of blood started pouring out. It stung like hell but didn't stop me from retaliating with a vicious slash on his right leg. He gasped slightly in pain and backed up slightly. Encouraged, I aimed for his legs again, hoping to stop him moving so I could get my final revenge.

However he did something unexpected; he lunged forward and before I knew what what happening, his sword pierced though my stomach. Pain surged though me as I fell to my knees in a mockery of subservience. My sword hadn't even scratched him when he had moved forward and it hung like a broken wing in my hand. I looked up at my killer. There was no expression of triumph or joy there. His face was perfectly expressionless as I screamed. Robotic, even. But I didn't scream just because of pain.

It was a war cry.

As he leaned over to retrieve his sword from my stomach, so similar to how I had speared the Girl on Fire, I lifted my own and with all of my remaining strength, I swung it at his neck.

Boom!

A cannon fired, but it wasn't my own. Yet. Vaguely, I realised the rain had stopped pouring but it didn't matter anymore. I was dead now. But now I thought about it, I always had been.

Always been soulless, heartless and empty of anything that meant anything. No values, no morals and no regrets.

Dead inside as well as outside.

Boom!

**Universal**

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the 74th Hunger Games, Felicia Woods. I give you the female tribute of District 5."

The look of surprise on Felicia's face was quickly replaced by a knowing smile, as if she knew she would have won all along. A hovercraft materialises and she obediently climbs onto the ladder and is immobilised by the current as it slowly ascends out of the arena. Her red hair glinting in the morning light like a ribbon is the last thing Panem sees before the cameras stop recording. Before everybody put away their banners for Cato and Thresh and hastily change them. By the time Felicia is ready for the Capitol, everybody would be the '#1 Fan of Felicia'. She was currently the fashionable thing to worship, you see.

Nobody had expected the seemingly unskilled girl with the red hair to win. Never would have thought that she would have outlived the ruthless killers from 2 or the formidable star-crossed lovers from 12. The fact she did is almost rebellious in itself. But unlike with Katniss Everdeen, Felicia's every move will not set Panem on fire.

Nor add fuel to the small pockets of resistance.

Not like the Girl on Fire would have done.

Just because she wanted to live.

* * *

**Hey there, this is my first fan fiction which is about the Hunger Games. This prologue is just my version of what I think might have happened if Katniss and Peeta hadn't won the Hunger Games and started the rebellion. The next chapter is set just before the Reapings of the 79th Hunger Games and it'll continue from there. Yeah, the POVs will change quite a bit, usually being one POV per chapter.  
If you like my writing then some reviews would be much appreciated :)**

_~ ImmyRose_


	2. Well that didn't go to plan

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games  
**

Chapter One

**_Beryl Streep, _**

**_District Three,_**

Boom!

Or rather, a shatter as all the windows splintered and cracked while tongues of fire and smoke snaked out of the empty holes. A few seconds later the entire building seemed to dissolve into a mass of bricks and dust as I watched. What had once been a fantastic monument to ancient architecture had crumpled in on itself like paper in five seconds. Pillars falling over like a row of dominoes, bricks collapsing like some invisible hand was pushing at them, the ornate glass roof sparkling into sand. The smoke spiralling out of the ruins was lost in the clouded night but the acrid stench was not.

Well that hadn't gone to plan.

Already a squad of Peace-keepers were at the scene, putting out the fire, salvaging whatever they could save – which wouldn't be much – and unsympathetically pulling what looked like bodies from the wreckage. Oh this was bad. Really bad. I might have a reputation for destroying things but destroying people? Not so much. 'Beryl Streep: murderer' wasn't how I really wanted to go down in history. Well, not just as some random killer anyway. But what were people doing in the Justice Building at three in the morning anyway? Well I think it was three in the morning, I wasn't entirely sure but I knew that it was way too late for anyone to be working there.

Unless they were Avoxes. But I doubted it since only the Capitol and the ''superior'' districts - aka, Districts One, Two and Four – had Avoxes. To this day, I still have no idea how District Three missed out on the chance to bask in the Capitol's favour. You'd think that the district that make all of those fancy gadgets that the Capitol love so much would be richer but no. We're just as poor as everyone else.

Not like I wanted to be a Capitolite or anything but I wouldn't mind actually having a house to call my own. Or wearing clothes that aren't two sizes too large for me. That would be nice.

Speaking of ill-fitting clothes, it made it seriously difficult to escape quietly. Have you tried running away from Peace-keepers when you need to keep pulling up your trousers? Talk about annoying. It also made it difficult to be stealthy when you're constantly tripping up over your own trainer-clad feet.

I ran into the stereo-typical dark, unlit alleyway and dived into the nearest dustbin that I could find. Nobody ever looked in the dustbins when chasing someone. It might be almost impossible to escape if anyone did find me but everyone thought that people were smarter than to do that. Using reverse psychology or something. If I was lucky, they would rush right past me and not even spare a second glance. It's not like I had left the bins in any state of disorder or anything.

As an extra line of defence, I settled into the trash that already resided in the bin and quickly used old newspapers, plastic bottles and old scraps of cloth to make me appear as part of the trash. I hated being scrubby but I was already covered in mud and ash so it didn't make much difference to my hygiene. However, I still inwardly shuddered as I felt something slimy on my arm. It was all horrid and cold and dark. Very dark. For all I know, the president himself – President Snow – and his guards could be marching around in tutus, although I doubted this was the case. Outside, I could hear heavy footsteps passing by, with a few curses and complaints. Yeah, probably not the president. His guards were more refined and subtle than that. Supposedly.

"...think that some stupid District trash would be easier to find." Yep, that was definitely a Peace-keeper.

"Who do you think it was?" Said another, more feminine voice.

"Probably that moody brat with the scar," The first voice answered, "I told you he needed to be taught a lesson." I think he was making a reference to when one of Adrian's (many) girlfriends had split on him to a Peace-keeper. Good thing that the Peace-keeper sent to arrest Adrian accepted the generous bribe that I had offered for his release. Well, he had accepted it, was about to put it in his wallet when I 'accidentally' knocked him out with a baseball bat. Somehow, that wallet happened to end up in my hands so it wasn't all bad. That winter, we actually had enough money to buy nice clothes that fitted me. I still had that amazing green coat but I hadn't brought it with me. It was for special occasions or/ and winter. I didn't want to ruin it by getting it covered in dust and soot. In any case, it was a good thing that Adrian's girlfriend had done that, it only benefited us. Needless to say, they weren't dating anymore. Funnily enough, Adrian had not appreciated her kind efforts to try and get us arrested and killed.

"What about his girlfriend? Didn't she try to blow up the hardware store two months ago?" The girl Peace-keeper asked.

There was a pause while they considered this, "Yeah she did. Where the hell does she get the bombs from? You'd think they would have better security on the warehouses."

"Shut up!" A third voice hissed, "You know that we're not supposed to say anything about that. Why do you think we're here?"

This was met with a snigger, "As if anyone else is going to try and defy us. We have guns after all."

"We still have to actually find them. If two kids like them aren't scared of us, then how do we know that anyone else is? We're obviously not doing a great job of intimidating anyone."

"Yeah, we can't shoot everyone. Need to have enough workers for the factories, you know." The voices gradually faded away and I groaned slightly. The security on the warehouses was ''poorly guarded''? It had taken ages to break into last time, disable the alarm systems and take the parts I needed for my new invention. It was obviously a regular enough occurrence that the Peace-keepers knew that anything that went wrong was usually me and Adrian's fault. Okay, it tended to be but still. They could actually have some solid evidence first before blaming us.

I thought of the Peace-keepers conversation and their description of him as the ''moody brat with the scar'' and grinned to myself. Then I remembered how they thought we were going out and it quickly left. He wasn't bad looking, with his messy brown hair, green eyes that were so intense they always looked darker under thick eyelashes and he literally towered over me. I liked to think it was just because he was exceptionally tall but he always said it was due to my lack of height. As for his scar, he had that scar on his left cheek since before he was eight. I didn't know him before then and he had never explained how he had came by it. Anyway, we were definitely not going out. I really wasn't interested in dating someone, let alone someone who was over two years older than me and twice as tall. At least nobody asked if we were related. At least, anybody who lived around here. The dumb-as-sheep Capitolites were another matter. And they always came rolling around when the 1st March – the day of the Reapings – arrived. Every single year since seventy-nine years ago, when we, or rather, our ancestors, rebelled against the Capitol's rule. Nobody alive today would remember what actually happened or why they rebelled in the first place. And if they were, they had probably forgotten in their old age. Now the Capitol version of the rebellion would be the one to be remembered and the truth would be hidden.

The truth never survives a war.

I waited a few minutes after the Peace-keepers had passed before slowly clambering out of the bin. The lid was neatly balanced on my head as I carefully scanned my surroundings before gently placing the lid back on the bin and dusting off all the rubbish. The slimy thing turned out to be a soggy vegetable which aside from being saturated in water seemed perfectly edible. Not like I knew much about identifying edible plants or anything. The concrete jungles that made up most of this District didn't exactly have a lot of vegetation around. Everything was all technologically 'advanced' and stuff, but to me everything looked like something out of a Victorian era picture. Cramped streets, trash nesting in the corners, sooty walls.

Suddenly a hand grabbed me by my shoulder and spun me around. Instinctively, I whipped out my knife which I always kept concealed in my sleeve and lunged at whoever was holding me. Their other hand grabbed my wrist and took the knife away from me. Then they took a step away from the shadows so I could get a good look at the amused green eyes of my partner-in-crime, Adrian. Nice to know that he was still alive and not in the hands of the authorities.

I felt slightly awkward at almost attacking him, "Oh hey there," I mumble, not looking at him directly in the eyes.

He waved my knife teasingly in front of my face, "You going to try and attack me again?"

I rolled my eyes, "I didn't recognise you. It could have been a Peace-keeper, you know."

He just grinned, "Yes, and a knife is totally going to stop one, isn't it?"

"Shut up," I said automatically as he moved closer to give me a hug, then reconsidered when he got a closer glimpse, or sniff, of me.

"Did you even bother trying to wash this morning?"

"I was busy," I mutter again, taking the knife and turning away to go 'home'. He, however, had other ideas. He grabbed my wrist and spun me around again, "You can't go that way, you'll be caught in seconds. They're swarming around that way."

I scowled. I already knew this but I wasn't really thinking properly today. I wasn't really a morning person, if you classed this as morning. It didn't really matter, I was still tired.

"Yeah, they're definitely looking for us. They think that the explosion was our fault."

"I wonder why," He says sarcastically as he starts running, "It's not like anyone else is stupid enough to blow up houses randomly."

My feet dragged slightly as Adrian hustled me in the other direction and clouds of dust rose from the ground as we ran. Another disadvantage of living here; all this dust meant our footprints remained and gave our enemy an easier trail to follow. Good thing that plenty of other footprints were around so that we could step in them instead.

"Stupid? Awesome and crazy, yes. Stupid, no."

"At last," He sounds triumphant, "Ladies and gentlemen, Beryl Streep finally admits she is crazy."

"And awesome. You have to add the awesomeness in or it doesn't count."

He rolls his eyes, "Of course. Never mind the fact that every Peace-keeper wants us dead, you're still worrying about how awesome you are."

"Hey, it's how I roll. You should know this by now."

"Don't worry, I do." Well he should do. He's known me since I was six-turning-seven. _I _know full well how he operates by now. Although that's slightly worrying; if I know him, he probably knows me too. It's not a comfortable thought. Who knows when that information will be used against me?

Ten minutes later, we had bypassed the electric fence that surrounded District 3. We might be where all the amazing electrical gadgets the Capitol possess originate from but the equipment we get to use is anything but. The fence in question is nothing but a string of barbed wire that was supposedly electrified 24/7. That was literally the only deterrent. An actual wall with spikes on top? No, that would make us look like a bunch of criminals and the Capitol didn't want that. We had to look all civilized and to act like we had the right to do what we wanted. Well we really didn't but looking like it was of higher priority. Guards? Nope, didn't seem to have enough Peace-keepers for that. Four thousands volts of electricity running though the barbed wire? Not at night, it didn't. Must have thought that _saying _that it would be was a good enough deterrent for the citizens of Three. If they ever bothered to actually turn the electricity on at night then it would be. During the day it was lethal but now the tell-tale humming was absent. Since me and Adrian basically lived in the dense forest just outside 3 when my 'house' in the heart of the town was inaccessible, we knew all the weak spots and chinks in the fence. Said fence had been hammered into the soft mud and would take ages to dig up anywhere else so we had to make do.

Ignoring the mud sticking to my clothes, I quickly lifted some of the fence high enough for me to lie under and crawled underneath it. With Adrian it was a little more difficult as he was taller but we managed. You had to be careful that you didn't cut yourself on the sharp spikes that were entwined into the wire. I had learned the hard way that they hurt bad enough on their own without the electricity that should reinforce the fence.

After that it was easy to reach the lake and the horrid, stunted trees around it. It's kind of creepy, the lake constantly changing colours like fading sparks from a malfunctioning machine while the trees loomed over and cast shadows over the water, clawing at the surface like fingers. I slump down unceremoniously beside a tree and try to admire the view, all the while feeling Adrian close by, not doing anything.

It continues like that for a while before I get up and climb up into a tree to get some sleep for tomorrow. Or today. Well in my mind, tomorrow doesn't start until I've woken up. In any case, I'll definitely need the sleep, Reaping Day is coming up and I'm eligible. I'm fifteen.

And the Capitol have decreed that anyone over twelve is old enough to die.

I'm guessing that blowing up the Justice Building has guaranteed me a place in these Games. Might have happened a scant few hours before the Reaping but that's enough for them to rig the Reapings. They've done it before, to get rid of troublemakers. Sending them into a fight to the death with twenty-three other kids, some of them who have trained their entire lives for this. It hasn't failed so far when they have rigged it. As far as I know.

Well what are the odds that the eight people from District Three who have won the Games are rebellious troublemakers? Only three of them are still alive and all of them were over fifteen when they won. You see, only four victors out of the seventy-eight that have won were fifteen when they had gained the title.

Could my life get any better?

I wake up to a fluttering of white smothering me.

Waving my arms around I brush the thing off me before realising it's my Reaping dress. Irritated, I got up and put it on before examining my reflection in the lake. It starts off clinging to my figure and gradually unfurls into what looks like rose petals. White rose petals. The 'petals' stick out like leaves from a branch and rubbed uncomfortably against my skin. I swear the entire dress must have been soaked in starch, it was that stiff.

Ah, the perks of 'borrowing' clothes. On the plus side, it actually fit me and – hating to sound vain here – I didn't look too unattractive. I didn't suffer from any acne or skin blemishes. I tucked away one dark brown curl behind my ear and then noticed my hand. It was covered in mud. Oh great, I had forgotten to wash. Hopefully the dress was easy to clean.

I look almost unrecognisable when I'm done making myself presentable. I'm wearing the dress – which didn't get too muddy – and my mahogany brown curls are deciding to stick out everywhere so I tied my hair up in a ponytail with some cheap white ribbon. Brown eyes stare blankly out from long dark eyelashes that curl upwards like an autumn leaf and the white dress looks something that a small child would wear. A rich, spoiled child higher up the District Three hierarchy than me but still a child. Coupled with my height and lack of figure – skinny with no curves – I look very young. Innocent. The very opposite of what I was now. Like an orchid hiding a preying mantis. A pair of white ballet flats completes the outfit. Well it beats high-heels. How anyone can stand running around in them full-time is a mystery, especially since it's been proven that wearing them can lead to permanently deforming your foot. Ow. Not like the Capitol have to worry about that. If they can save someone from the brink of death then patching up some sore feet would be no problem. It's not like they care that the money they waste on 'beautifying' themselves could be used to improves living conditions back home.

I hated the Capitol, and envied them in equal verve. While finding a good place to sleep among the factories and streets wasn't even a given, the citizens of the Capitol watched twenty-three children die every year while getting a foot massage and dying their hair the latest shade of magenta. It was so, so infuriating watching them, knowing that all the money they spent could have been used to give a better life to the children in the community home I used to be in until nine years ago. Sounds like a long time ago, right? I still remember the oppressive atmosphere like it was yesterday. Everywhere I go, I can't escape from the memories. Whenever winter comes around, I'm reminded of sitting in the main hall with the others, shivering like crazy in rags. Rags that were the only thing preventing us from being completely naked. A sudden slamming of a door or clanging of a spoon after a long period of quiet remind me of the regular cracks and hisses of a whip in the early hours of morning. Once, I was at the end of that whip. But the thing that really gets to me is the fact that you can't escape the colour grey. The cobblestones and the walls are grey. Even the sky serves as a constant reminder of the claustrophobic walls in my room. For a while after I had escaped, I had felt like the sky was closing in on me. But going inside made me feel no better. Constantly on edge, I was. Like the staff from the community home were going to come in one day and take me back. Whip and starve and torture me until I was broken. Broken for real this time. They would never just leave me alone, would they?

Well this time I had brought it upon myself. At least it hadn't been entirely my fault last time.

When I had bypassed the fence the sky had been an egg-shell blue, with a few clouds on the horizon as dawn arrived. I didn't get a lot of sleep but I didn't want to be trapped on the wrong side of the fence when the electricity was turned on. Now the sky had reverted back to the same mundane shade of grey that it always seemed to be.

I hated grey and it was everywhere. Dusting the stone walls of the alleyway I walked down to my execution, tarnishing everything pretty. My shoes were smudged by the time I made my way to the Reaping. I had lost sight of Adrian but soon found him having his blood sample taken. They had fenced off the town square and as I waited with the other fifteen-year old children, I noticed that my actions had spread though the town like wildfire. No surprise since the Justice Building that we stood in front of was practically non-existent. Must be strange looking at a blanket of smoke rising up from the ground instead of this imposing pile of stone that towered over you. Personally, I thought the smoke was actually a nice touch to the Reaping, like something out of a film. That'd be nice, wouldn't it? All that smoke generated for nothing more than dramatic effect to a film. For everyone to get up and laugh after everything had been recorded and edited to perfection. For the smoke to not be a symbol of the devastation after the destruction. For the smoke to not add to the choking grey that taints everything here.

Everyone seemed to be staring at me – the Peace-keepers with satisfied smirks on their faces, the other children whispering and looking awed, the other townspeople sniffing in disgust as they passed. Trying not to flinch as they took my blood sample, I made my way over as close to the platform as possible for a easier path. I was definitely going into the Hunger Games anyway so why not? Maybe I was going in a little earlier than I would have liked but it beat being one of those unlucky twelve-year old girls. On the plus side, I had prepared for this as part of my master plan. Yes, I had a master plan. No, I am not an evil villain plotting to take over Panem. Think about the effort required to run a country. No, I just didn't want to be sitting idle. There's only so much time I get on Earth and I was going to use every second I could so that nobody forgot me after I died.

Ambition was a good motivator, I found. No point if I win the Games and find myself with nothing to do. That was definitely not going to happen to me.

Provided I lived to find myself a victor, that was. I might have trained with Adrian in secret for a few years – just because I had nothing else to do and it seemed like a good idea in case I was Reaped – but that faded in comparison to the Careers. If you don't know who they are then you must live under a rock. They're probably the reason most of District Three fear the Hunger Games anyway. Especially after last year, the 78th Hunger Games. The boy from District Two just annihilated every tribute in his way, including the Career alliance. He didn't bother making the deaths quick either. It took him three days to kill eleven of the tributes after the Bloodbath before the District Nine girl shot him down with an arrow and won. It hadn't been of much comfort. The atmosphere was even more tense than I remembered it, but maybe that was just me hoping the Peace-keepers weren't just going to put a bullet to my skull straight away. That tended to put a downer on things. So did listening to the boring speech the mayor recited – wait, that wasn't the mayor.

Looks like I may have taken him out of the picture yesterday. This was not going to go unnoticed by the other important people of District Three. Hell, I think even the President may have been notified on this. A death of a mayor was important in the running of politics, I guess.

I was so freaking screwed.

"Greetings and welcome to the reaping of the 79th Annual Hunger Games!" Chirped the artificially high voice of our escort, Electra Wires. She was playing up her last name, being covered in black wires that occasionally let off sparks of electricity. She looked a bit like a ninja minus the mini-fireworks around her. I made a mental note to steer clear of her in case she tried to give me a hug. She gave us a cheery smile that nobody returned. It was obvious that she was hoping to be promoted to a Career district, even though District Three wasn't the worst district you can represent. Everybody knew that title belonged to District Twelve. They didn't even have a victor anymore. I caught Adrian's eye while he was whispering something to one of his friends and he smirked at me. Slightly unsettled by this as he usually smiled, I returned to staring dully at the platform as the video of the Uprising played. It's obviously propaganda. If life after the oceans had destroyed most of the planet was so amazing and peaceful and whatever, then why would anyone rebel? I had always wanted to know but I doubted that anyone in the Districts knew and nobody in the Capitol was going to tell me anything. Eventually the video stopped playing and Electra – clapping stupidly at the video – tottered over in her stupid high-heels to where the bowls held the slips. I bet all the slips in the girls' bowl had my name in it.

"Ladies first,"

There's a rustling sound as her hand searches though the bowl. I can't see it as everyone in the fourteen-year old section , which are in front of me – seems to be taller than I am. It's like I've suddenly shrunk to the size of a toddler or something. Electra holds the folded paper with the name of the tribute on it and holds it out for everyone to see. Except me. A silence seems to fall over the square as she unfolds the paper, hushing all uneasy whispers and restless feet. Her voice seems to pierce though the air as the name is called out.

"Vienna Dresden,"

I didn't have a clue who she was but judging by the discontent murmurings I could hear, she probably wasn't that old. I could see the crowd making way for a small girl who's eyes had widened in shock as she hesitantly made her way to the platform. Chances are that this unfortunate kid dies within the first sixty seconds of the Games. But will anybody be selfless enough to volunteer? Yeah right. She has two sisters, if the pair of girls crying together next to a stunned-looking woman was anything to go by. Why don't they volunteer? Because they don't care enough about her to, that's why, I think bitterly.

I will never get why people put so much stock into 'family values' or whatever. My parents had abandoned me to the community home when I was a baby and I still functioned perfectly well. Pity the poor fools who think they can't survive without a family. A family who would leave them to be killed if it meant that they lived another day. Don't feel sorry for me, it only meant that I learned that lesson early on so I can't be betrayed later. Don't trust anyone, that's one of my rules. It's got me this far, although I'll admit, having Adrian watching your back was helpful. He had nothing to lose, like me, so we might as well trust each other.

I can hear the girl next to me whisper something to one of her friends. Both look unhappy. Everywhere around the square, people are shocked and slightly saddened that a twelve-year old was chosen as they always are when this happens. Not like it makes any difference. But maybe she'll get extra sponsors from this shock.

I'm shocked as well. Why wasn't I picked? They might have only had a day to rig the drawings but it's not a particularly long, arduous task filling a bowl with a few hundred pieces of paper with my name on. Or blackmailing the escort to say my name no matter who she picks. Mind you, they don't really have much evidence that the explosion was my fault but when do the Peace-keepers ever need evidence to kill one scrappy runaway from the community home? I think back to the numerous occasions that I've seen Peace-keepers shooting a bullet though someone's skull for no reason and I know that they would kill me anyway. Probably just saving me for a public execution or something even worse – torture.

Killing someone quickly is one thing; they barely feel a thing and if they do, it's not for long. Torture, on the other hand, is just, well, wrong. Honestly, having someone's last moment be of complete and utter agony that you _chose _to inflict on them is pretty evil. And despite my many flaws, I don't consider myself evil. Curious? Check. A little self-centred? Check. Doesn't feel much remorse about killing? Check. Well it wasn't like I meant for them to die. If I could take back detonating the bomb – which I had smuggled in by planting the bomb inside a crate which was to be duly opened inside the Justice building, I would have done. Not like it made my situation any better. But evil? Not really. I hoped. But now this Vienna girl's been reaped, what's going to happen next?

Out of the corner of one eye, I can see the Peace-keepers eyeing me speculatively as they readied their guns. So that's how they were going to play it, huh? Oh so slowly, they edge their way towards me and I can see that a few others had picked up on this and were backing away.

Looks like time's up for me. Unless...

"I volunteer," I say loudly, raising one hand while the other kids look at me like I'm mad. I didn't really need to shout, it's not like anybody else is going to volunteer. We're not Careers. We have way more class than they do. Okay, provided nobody wants to volunteer around here but it beats the riots that occur when Districts One and Two hold their Reapings. No really, they break out into fights to see who gets the privilege of killing twenty-three other kids.

That is totally _not_ a massive indicator of how screwed up they are in the slightest.

District Four are also Careers but funnily enough, no riots have ever broken out when someone volunteers. Maybe they have preliminary drawings or something. But no District has everyone gawking at them like they've grown two heads. Even with the gawking, they move out of the way so I can walk forward to the front. Well, if strutting confidently over and up the steps, not feeling scared in the slightest counted as walking. At least I had a one in twenty-four (or 4.1%) chance of living which beat my 0.0% chance with the officials of District Three.

Electra smiled at me and I remembered that the last volunteer from District Three had been thirty-something years ago and that didn't really count as they had been clinically insane. Well okay it did count as they had been pretty bad-ass. Well, with the fighting skills anyway. They had ran around the arena with a sword and killed a few unlucky tributes before running into the Careers. He had decapitated one of them before he was taken down. The Careers didn't win that year, being outsmarted by one of those typical smart-asses from Six.

Was I insane? I hoped not. After all, being insane at fifteen was not a good sign. Anyway, I didn't volunteer for the so-called glory of swimming in blood. I've already done a little bit of that before the Games and it was hardly fun. Seeing the spark of life leave someone? The only thrill I get from seeing that was a thrill of guilt and that didn't exactly kick in very often.

I never mean to kill anyone. It never seemed to make a difference though. I didn't feel the opposite when I killed someone though. There was no overwhelming feeling to confess to the world about how sorry I was. I had never randomly killed somebody unless they were trying to hurt me first. Not until now. Well they might have been the ones who order the Peace-keepers to try and kill me but directly, they had done nothing. Why should I regret it now though? It's not like me being sorry would bring them back to life. I just didn't care.

I'm not a selfless girl. Vienna could have gone into the Games and I wouldn't have felt guilty about it. Only slightly sad when you see her eyes stare vacantly into the sky as a cannon fired. I had raised my hand to extend my life by a few days. Now I could only hope and pray that my killer wasn't a psychopath. The hoping-and-praying part wasn't really my style. Destroying things and annoying the hell out of everybody else while I was sabotaging was more of my thing. Volunteering for a weak twelve-year old would also get me brownie points with sponsors. I could imagine them now, craning their necks to see a glimpse of the kind, selfless girl that had volunteered for a poor young weakling, willingly putting her life on the line for them. Selfless and kind? Not really words I would use to describe me but I can act somewhat charming when I need to.

"Lovely," The escort pronounced every syllable of that word, "Now then, what's your name?"

I grinned at her, "Beryl Streep," Well actually, Beryl was short for Beryllium. Beryllium Diane Streep. Ugh, how I hate my first name. Seriously, what mother names their daughter after a metal? Well I had already established that my mother was heartless but still. Whoever my mother was...

Electra shook my hand before presenting me to the rest of District Three. I couldn't help but take pleasure in the frustrated expressions that were on the Peace-keepers' faces. Adrian was glaring at me in a uncharacteristic manner (that was sarcasm, by the way) and I suddenly realised what was going to happen next. My smug smile dropped but I quickly replaced it with a cheery grin that was about as real as Electra's hair extensions.

Like my day could get any worse.

"And now for the gentlemen," Electra trilled as she delved her hand into the bowl and – with less flair than when announcing Vienna's name – screeched the name that made my jaw drop. Almost.

"Adrian Massey," My heart sank. Why didn't I think of this potential flaw earlier? I highly doubted it was coincidental either. Out of all the people they could have picked and they reap the one person I have any kind of friendly relationship with. It's at around this point that I realise that they might have done this deliberately, that they intended for this to happen, relying on the fact that Adrian would die in the arena while I watched before reaping me for next year's Games. Then I remembered how the Peace-keepers had looked ready to kill me before I volunteered. Maybe I was becoming a little too paranoid. Apart from the fact Adrian was reaped. That was definitely not random.

He looks perfectly calm as he walks up to the stage but I can see a furious glint in his eyes that is all too familiar to me. It's that gleam that means he's entered the world of the not-quite sane. Where he's prone to fly into a rage and lash out at anyone around him. In this case, me and the Peace-keepers. They'll have a hard time keeping him calm, unless they have those Taser guns. His training makes him as dangerous in combat as a Career tribute, which is saying something since Careers can kill a person in ten seconds flat without breaking a sweat. Training and a lack of control in the temper department is not a great combination but I don't see this side of him very often. Usually he's quite calm and well-mannered, unless he's stressed.

Not like he beats me up everyday or anything. He's never hurt me like that. Never turned those fists on me, although he did shove me into a wall once when I disagreed with him. Mostly just shouts at me instead. Just because I'm usually the only person around to hear. But sometimes he doesn't do that. Sometimes he seems almost normal. When in reality he's anything but. That's when I start to worry.

When he does that, the same gleam is in his eyes. And it never meant good news. Ever.

But really, was any of this good news?

I doubted it.


	3. Like you care

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games  
**

Chapter Two

_**Adrian Massey, **_

_**District Three,**_

This was great preparation for the Hunger Games because I really wanted to kill someone right now. Not only was I going into the Hunger Games earlier than I had planned to but Beryl was going in as well. She just had to go and volunteer the very same year that I was entering in. Nobody in District Three was stupid enough to think this was coincidental and were probably wondering about Beryl's motives. Well so was I. She had never thought that the Hunger Games were great and didn't care less about loyalty to her District. Actually, the only reason she hadn't tried to move was because District Three was where all the bombs were and she loved making and using them. And as far as I knew, she didn't want me dead. Unless she was just hanging around so she could try and kill me. Which didn't strike me as much of a possibility as she had chosen to hang around with me so for a while now.

Was I expected to kill her? Knowing the Capitol, I would probably have to face her for their entertainment. How was I supposed to protect her against all the psychos that would no doubt be in this year's Games? She might think she could handle it but no way was I just going to leave her on her own. She's fifteen, for crying out loud. Not like she cared about that or anything.

Since the Justice Building was nothing but a smoking wreckage, we were herded to a building near the old mayor's house. You couldn't walk in a straight line for all the debris that hadn't been cleaned away. In the afternoon sunlight, the glass from the wreckage seemed to wink menacingly at me as we passed. The mayor's body was still wrapped up in less-than-pristine white sheets like the other victims were, unless they had already buried his body. He had been at some meeting when the bomb had exploded and had died from a glass shard in the abdomen. Beryl had destroyed that building and with it, my entire life.

You see, everyone thought that I was involved in the destruction of the Justice Building as well, since me and Beryl executed most of our plans together. However, she had told me nothing of this and I doubt she was going to now. Honestly, I don't have a clue over why she has to randomly blow up something. And – out of all the possible buildings she could have picked, she picks the Justice Building. How the hell did she get a bomb in there anyway? She's always loved destroying things. By things, I mean objects and not people, thankfully. This time though, she had destroyed lives. About a dozen people had died in that explosion, the Mayor and his wife being just two of those people. Did Beryl care? Again, I doubted it. She was pretty self-centred and since she didn't know them, she wouldn't blink an eye at the news of their deaths. But if her reluctance to kill anybody while we were breaking into a warehouse or while some jerk tried to ambush us in a alleyway – preferring to knock them out and run – was any indicator, she wasn't a fan of killing either.

Had I killed anyone? I guess I had.

_It was when I was eight and walking to one of my friend's houses after my adoptive father had finished training for the day. He had an obsession with the fact that when I was eighteen, I would volunteer for the Games so he had more money. I guess that was why he had adopted me from the community home in the first place – I looked strong and capable so he figured I had a chance. Either I trained and learned as much as possible or have my life ended for sure at eighteen. Hardly difficult making a choice between the two. _

_The training was even worse than anything the community home had done, being punished if I didn't hold my sword correctly or if I missed the dummy's heart by a few inches from several metres away but I didn't really care. It held more appeal than learning all that academic stuff. Not saying I missed out on my ABC's or anything, I still had to learn those kind of things. Like knowing where on the world map Panem was located was going to help me in life. Defending myself seems to actually benefit you on the other hand and I was grinning as I walked down an alleyway. Concealed within my coat was a knife and I was almost daring someone to try and attack me so I could practice in real life. Not kill anyone, just see if actually using a knife on another person was the same as stabbing it into a dummy. I already figured it wasn't but I wanted to be sure. Not saying that I would jump on a random passer-by just for that purpose, only if anyone tried to attack me. Then it would serve them right if I did. But no, they had to go bother a girl instead._

_She was wearing a grey top that was several sizes too large and looked more like a dress. Some baggy grey tracksuit trousers and worn trainers completed the outfit. I recognised it immediately; it was the same outfit I had to wear when I was in the orphanage. Or community home, I didn't really care right now. She was flat on the ground with a much older boy on top of her, wearing similar clothes. From her wide-eyed expression and the sneer on the boy's face, I could guess that something bad was happening here. _

"_Come on, I haven't got all day." The boy said impatiently._

"_And I still don't know what you're talking about. Could you get off, you're hurting me." The girl tried to unseat the boy but he just pinned her wrists together and laughed._

"_Don't be difficult," He raided though her pockets and took out the few things he had found in it, then threw the girl's possessions to the ground and looked though them. When he had seen everything, he turned back to the girl, "Hand it over." He snapped._

"_I ain't got anything," The girl protested, her voice squeaky in fear at the fact that the boy wouldn't leave her alone, "You've seen everything that I have, just let me go."_

"_Yeah right," The boy spat, "I saw you take Posy's necklace. She wants it back so where is it?"_

"_I don't know what you're talking – " Her protest was cut off as she gasped in pain when the boy twisted her wrist before slamming her head into the wall. I decided to step in. Walking over to the boy, I shoved him off the girl, who quickly started to scramble backwards against the wall. I turned to the boy who just glared at me._

"_Back off," He snapped, "This doesn't have anything to do with you."_

"_You're threatening a girl," I pointed out, "Over a necklace. Isn't asking for it back what people usually do?"_

_He just glowered, "This is _Beryl_," He said her name like it was a perfectly good excuse to slam her head into a wall, "She doesn't give stuff back if you ask."_

_Now the girl – Beryl – was glowering too, "I don't have your stupid necklace okay? What would I do with one?"_

_His eyes were flames, "Do you think I'm an idiot? I saw you take it and now you're going to pay. If I don't get you then the staff will." I watched in disbelief as he took out a knife. It was from the staff kitchens and looked like it could do a lot of damage due to its large blade, "But I'm gonna get you before they do," He shuffled over to her and glared down at her, "And there ain't a thing you can do about it now."_

"_I don't ha – " This time she was cut off when he slapped her. _

"_Shut up!" He waved the knife threateningly in front of her to ensure she stayed quiet then faced me, "Take one more move and she'll be screaming before you can do anything to help."_

"_You're going to hurt her anyway." I point out._

_He just grinned, "You ain't helpin' her any," He raised his knife to Beryl's face. She was staring curiously at me but now all of her attention was fixated on that blade._

_Before he could attack her, I tackle him to the ground and draw my own knife. Time to find out what using it is like for real._

_He doesn't give up though and proceeds to try and wrestle me off while swiping at me with his knife. He knows how to swipe with a knife but he's predictable and I can see where he's going to attack before he actually does. We do get a few hits in between us though; I'm bleeding from a long scratch down my arm and several minor cuts all over while I managed to stab him pretty deep in his thigh and his arms are slick with blood. Some of that's mine. And so we continue like that for a couple of minutes; us rolling around trying and failing to stab each other severely enough with a knife to stop the battle. I just want him temporarily out of commission. _

_Is he trying to kill me? Judging by the repeated attempts to stab me in the heart, I'm guessing so. He shoves me off him so hard that I roll over several times before getting back up. When I do, the boy is clutching at his side in a weak attempt to stop the bleeding. He glares at me for a few moments and then recognition lights up his eyes._

"_I know you," He hisses, "I've seen you walking around here, acting like you own the place. Where did you run off to?"_

"_Adopted," I just say, "Unlike you."_

_His eyes narrow dangerously, "So what? I've been adopted plenty of times before. Ain't nothing great about it."_

"_If that's the case then why are you still there? At the community home?" He smiles suddenly, a surprisingly sweet smile, "Oh, I just can't help it," He says, edging closer so subtly that I almost don't notice, "They don't do anything. Well, not on purpose. It just makes me so very mad, you know. And people who do that don't get away from me." His voice takes on a dreamy quality that is very much out of place here, "Then I get sent back, again and again and again." He looks down at his hands, which are stained red with my blood, "I can see why now. Too bad I won't remember when I do this." Before he finishes his sentence he dives forward, knife out and poised to strike into my neck. It would have done if I hadn't rolled out __of the way. It's also a good thing that I'm armed or else I don't think I would have lasted as long as I have done. The blade lodges itself into the ground where I was just moments ago and gets stuck there. As he tries to yank it out I seize the opportunity, knowing that it would be my last one, and slammed myself into him. It knocks the air out of both of us and I end up on top of him. The knife glints a satin red in the dim light as it swings downwards._

_I don't really remember plunging my knife into the boy's neck. Only that it did. I actually managed to move the knife though the skin and muscle and flesh. I didn't intend to kill him, I was just trying to stop him hurting the girl. He was going to kill me as well. It didn't penetrate all the way though and I can still remember him writhing around in pain. He couldn't even manage to scream, all that came out was a horrible gurgling sound. I took out the knife and stabbed it in his heart instead. He stopped struggling._

_Beryl looked terrified. That was the first expression her face showed when I looked at her. Like really took her features in. Innocent eyes wide open in shock, clutching her knees and shaking in fear. One hand was fingering a ring which was attached to a piece of black string, smearing the ring in blood since her hands were also red. How they got like that I did not know. Her gaze was on me and her lip was trembling. Like I was surprised. _

_I probably looked like a monster to her, coated in blood and holding my knife with a dead body mere inches away from me. There was red _everywhere. _Painting me and the ground around me, soaking into the ground and darkening it until it looked almost black. Tainting it with my crime like ashes betrayed a fire._

_It wasn't a rush of exhilaration like my adoptive father had said it would be. Killing, that was. But I hadn't done anything that wrong, had I? He was going to kill Beryl. Might have killed her painfully. I had saved a life. That wasn't bad, was it? I didn't mean to kill him. Honestly. _

_I was just trying to help._

"_You killed him." Beryl accused me quietly, her eyes flickering back between me and my victim._

"_So I did," I reply, not looking away from her._

"_You killed him," She repeats more loudly while she gets up, "You killed a person. You can't just do that," She's shouting now, "Get away from me. I haven't done anything to you." Her eyes dart around frantically while she leans against the wall looking like she's about to have a heart attack. Knowing that it would do no good, I don't make any movement towards her, "Did you want to die?" I ask in a tone that came across darker than I had intended._

_Her eyes widen even further. She probably thinks I'm going to kill her like I had managed to kill the boy, "N-n-n-no," She stutters._

_Limply, I gesture to the dead body, "That would have been you if it wasn't for me." I point out harshly, "A thank-you would be nice."_

_I stand up and ran away from the scene of the crime before she can reply. Keeping to the shadows for fear that someone else would find out what I had done, I pull my hood up over my head, hide my knife and wash my clothes free of blood._

_But I can feel the wide eyes of Beryl on me all the way back home._

I didn't know the date of when that happened. I still don't. The day afterwards though, I ran into her again. She told me that the orphanage staff had already punished her and had worse in store. Well, she had once I had convinced her that I wasn't going to attack her. If whipping her back counted as a 'mild' punishment, I dreaded to see her after they had given her a more severe one. It was that and the fact that I had already saved her once that made me offer her a place at my adoptive father's home. Never mind the fact that she was only around six or seven while I had celebrated my ninth birthday a few days ago. So young to be able to end lives.

That boy had been the first person to die at my hand. I didn't even know his name but now I was beyond caring. Anyone who would kill a six-year old definitely deserved to die. My adoptive father had congratulated me on that. Said it would be only the first in a 'glorious' reign of terror and power or something. I had paid him no attention. All that mattered was that I had done something that was classed as 'morally good'. Saving Beryl's life, that is.

Was trying to save a life by ending another life count as evil? Yes, killing people was wrong but if you saved more lives in the process then surely that wasn't to be ignored. You couldn't automatically call me 'evil', could you? Evil or not, I would still choose that option if it meant Beryl was saved.

At any rate, my adoptive father hadn't minded Beryl – or Beryllium, as she hated to be called – occasionally showing up for a few lessons in defence or evasion. She was far superior at evading than I would ever be. Eventually, I had started to train her myself in my spare time. She had taken to those lessons happily…when she cared to actually show up.

She was definitely a worthy companion though. Annoying and self-centred as Beryl was, she was still a good ally. A good friend. However, there were times where I just wanted to throttle some sense into her.

Now was definitely one of those times.

It was going to have to wait though as I was shoved into a room. It had the same colour scheme as the rest of the town square did – silver and grey stone. Fancy marble arches and polished floors were the order of the day. Dotted around the place were uncomfortable-looking benches that seemed to be more decorative than anything else. They blended in with the excessively high walls which were the same muted grey. Aside from that, the only other piece of furniture in the room was a massive slab of stone that was attached to the floor. I had no idea why you would want it there. I would say you could use it as a table but there were no chairs surrounding it and it was too high for that anyway. The stone was a massive cube at least three or four metres high. Engraved into it was some writing. Reading it, I realised it must be in another language as the words made no sense to me. The only words that made some sense were four words engraved in enlarged lettering: _honore civitatem magnam Panem._ Everyone knew what that meant, seeing as they were said every Reaping day. _In honour of the great city of Panem. _Panem meant bread in whatever language this was. Why our country was named Bread was unknown to me. If it had anything to do with politics or religion then I was lost. The ceiling seemed to be miles away with some more fancy structures that appeared to be holding the ceiling up. I sat myself on one of the stupid benches and found out first-hand how cold marble is. I better get used to it though, I was going to be sitting though an hour of weeping people saying how sorry they are that I was picked. Great.

"Hey there, Adrian." One of my friends – or people that I work with – Slate, walks in. He's wearing the cliché shades and leather jacket that I don't think suit anyone. His dark hair is ruffled but only looks like that thanks to a generous amount of hair gel. He wears a pair of faded jeans that are standard-issue from the factories and his boots are worn from years of use. I've known him for a while so I know that under those stupid sunglasses are a pair of dark blue eyes and expressive eyebrows. Not like you get much of a chance to see them.

"Still looking like a wannabe tough guy, I see." Is my first response to seeing him here.

"Still looking like a wannabe gentleman, I see." Slate mimics my tone of voice while gesturing to my Reaping outfit. A crisp white t-shirt with a black business coat and sensible black trousers. A dark blue bow-tie is fastened to my t-shirt and my hair is neatly brushed and groomed, without using gel as it makes my hair look like I haven't washed it in ages. Complete with polished black shoes, I can see why he would say this.

"It's Reaping Day," I point out, "You, on the other hand, wear those clothes everyday."

He adjusts his shades slightly while I speak, "These clothes are cool, not like you have much money to invest in fashion," I snort at this, "Well anyway. You and your girlfriend in the same Games. Must suck for you."

"We're not going out." I say automatically, "And thanks for your words of encouragement." That last sentence was dripping in sarcasm.

"Always hear to keep your head screwed on." He grins, "Anyway, don't die. I need to have somebody to annoy at work, you know." 'Work' was code for the secret black market dealings that I made when me and Beryl got our hands on any kind of stuff that was illegal. This place was most definitely bugged and we didn't want anyone to get in trouble. I didn't take drugs or smoke but I do trade it occasionally. Make quite a lot of money when me and Beryl do find it. But that doesn't happen very often though. Well we don't really use money that much but it's more convenient when you don't have to waste time stealing everything.

"Nice to know that you appreciate me so much," I give Slate a wry smile.

He grins back, "Well what can I say? You're a great help, you know."

I raise an eyebrow, "Any other reason why you're here apart from to thank me for my help?"

"Well I'd tell you to get in there with your girlfriend but I don't think that's going to work out too well. Anyway, don't try and attack the Careers; I don't want to see you get your ass handed to you on live television."

"Helpful, aren't you? Did you think that I was going to if you hadn't warned me?"

"As I've said, somebody needs to keep your head screwed on and that person's me. Consider it as me repaying you for your help."

"Thanks, I think." This is followed by an awkward silence while the clock is ticking. I wonder if anyone else will visit. Well if Slate did then I doubt anyone else that I work with will. I have no girlfriend at the moment, which will only work to my advantage when dealing with sponsors. Not many people get a lot of sponsors if they play the boyfriend/ girlfriend card unless they do it really, really well. As for family, I doubt they even realise I've been Reaped. Unless they've been keeping close tabs on their child over the years.

Slate's shuffling his feet awkwardly and isn't making eye contact with me, "Are you okay?" I ask, noting the uncomfortable manner in which he holds himself.

"Well," He says, still not looking at me, "Don't you think you bit off a bit more than you can chew with destroying the Justice Building? Not accusing you of anything but..." He trails off, unsure about how I'm going to react.

He has good reason to as I feel my bad mood returning, "Slate," I start, trying to sound calm but achieving a tone that sounds anything but, "It wasn't me." I enunciate every word while standing up and glaring at him.

"But everybody knows that you and Beryl are the only two – "

I cut him off, "It wasn't me," I repeat, leaning in so that any cameras and audio equipment won't be able to pick my next words up, "Beryl was the one who did it. I took no part in this. None at all." He stumbles and falls over onto the floor.

He looks shocked as I tower over him, "Wha-what? Why would she do that? She's not a killer."

I smile at him again, but I'm positive it's not a nice one, "Nothing you need to know about." Always make it sound like you know what's going on even if you actually have no clue, "Now why don't you go back and pretend that you never had this conversation." If you could call it that.

He just nods and slowly gets back up, still wary of me. Despite his attitude, he's still scared of me.

"Er, well," He says, "See you, I guess."

I don't say anything and he shuffles out of the room like a dog with its tail between it's legs. I don't really care since I'm still annoyed that everyone thinks that I was involved in Beryl's crime. I clench my fists. Only another fifty or so minutes before I'll see Beryl.

Time's almost up, I realised as I checked the clock yet again. Several of my other friends from work had visited, teasing me about Beryl – much to my annoyance – as well as trying to encourage me. Nobody had mentioned about the Justice Building which was nice. Slate must have told them to back off about that.

The door opened again and I saw my adoptive father standing there, looking at me with a slightly crazed look in his eyes. Hobbling over with his cane, he looks at me with eyes that are way too bright and intelligent for someone so diseased and old.

"Win," He rasped, giving me a feral grin from wizened lips, "We need the money."

I'm slightly taken aback. Is that all he wanted me in the Games for? Didn't he feel _anything _for me apart from the fact that I would be showered in riches if – I mean when – I got back home? This might not be unheard of in the Career districts but people here actually cared for others. We weren't robots. Well I didn't feel like a robot anyway.

I had been in close proximity with this man for most of my life. You couldn't just treat them as some faceless stranger after that. I had known Beryl for less than this guy and I knew that I would miss her when she died. Or maybe that was because she was a similar age to me and because she was in the same boat as me at the time. Then I realised he had never even bothered to tell me his name.

"Correction: _you _need the money." I reply icily, "There was never a _we,_ was there?"

He observed me with those horrid grey eyes. "Where did this come from?" He asked, spit flying from his mouth, "It wouldn't have anything to do with," He breathed in desperately, the breath rattling in his throat, "That girl, would it? Beryllium." He smiled again, more to himself this time. The old man was probably congratulating himself on remembering Beryl's name right now.

"Her name is Beryl," I say calmly, trying not to lose my temper.

"Who cares?" He says dismissively, making me clench my fists, "She'll still have to go if you want to live. It's nothing to do with me anymore; it's your life or hers." He made his way over to the door again.

I glowered. He seemed way too smug about this, "Did you rig the drawings?"

"Of course I did. Well, I asked the mayor's secretary to, actually. She was more than happy to comply. You two haven't exactly been very well-behaved, have you?" He tutted while shaking his head, "The fact that she volunteered? Well Adrian, I don't believe she had much of a choice there." He paced around the room, stroking his chin while I watched him like an eagle watching a rabbit.

"What do you mean she didn't have a choice?" I ask sharply.

He smiles slightly, "I said she didn't have _much _of a choice, not that she didn't have any at all. She didn't _have_ to volunteer. But I think that staying at home would leave her worse off." He smirks at me, "Must be terrible not having your _best friend,_" He says those last two words in a way that implies what he thinks is really going on between me and Beryl.

"We're not dating," I just say. Why does everybody think this? Every single person that I've talked to today has implied that they think me and Beryl are together. If they've been saying as much to Beryl then she'll be in a bad of a mood as I am. For some reason, she seems to hate the idea of a relationship between us.

His lips pursued, "Of course not," He taps two of his fingers against his chin, "But I've seen the way you look at her. You wish you were together," He holds up a hand as I open my mouth to protest, "Don't deny it," He waggles a finger at me, "I've seen the way you look at her. Witnessed all the times you've helped her. Definitely something more than friends."

"I'm her best friend, of course I'm going to help her."

He just laughs but doesn't say anything, preferring to look at some of the artwork that I failed to notice until now. Or failed to care to note, if that made any sense. Eventually I speak.

"You can go now." I simply say, tired.

"Oh but I'm not done yet," He said, still looking at the artwork, "You were a good student, you know. A natural with the sword and a couple of knives." There was a pause while he smirked at me, "And all too eager to learn more. Very Career like. You're definitely suited to be one. Skilled, arrogant and ruthless." He didn't really get the chance to say much more as I socked him in the nose without any warning.

His only response was to laugh again, which most people don't usually do when their nose is bleeding profusely, "Vicious too. Careful with that temper of yours, might do a lot of accidental damage if you're not. Wouldn't want to hurt your little friend now, would we?" Grinning like the insane man he had turned out to be, he hobbled over to the door without saying an actual goodbye. I briefly wondered how I had never noticed the true extent of it before now. The insanity and manipulation behind those eyes. Vaguely I realise that he probably has another half a dozen kids to use in case I fail. Why hedge all of your bets on one person when having six will increase his chances of getting a victor? Smart move; he wasn't ever going to get a penny off me.

No matter because the Peace-keepers were there, as always, to guide me to the tribute train. I get a glimpse of myself on one of the huge screens and I'm glad to see that I appear bored. Don't want anybody to think I'm weak now, that wouldn't help with my plan at all.

Beryl's there too, examining her nails like they take priority over the numerous cameras and reporters swarming around everywhere. To be fair, both of us have had plenty of years looking either emotionless or bored with everything. Looking scared had never done anyone any favours, had it? Except for those tributes that were pretending to be weak so everybody would overlook them. That tactic wasn't going to work this year since I presumed everyone to be a threat. How many times has a person won because the other tributes thought they were no threat and didn't kill them? Quite a few times, actually. Was this going to happen this year? Not if I had any say in it.

Unless the other tributes thought me and Beryl were not worth killing. I doubted it however – we had that competent look about us that meant we would automatically be judged as 'threat'. They would be correct though so I wasn't particularly bothered by this. Any of the weaker tributes wouldn't even be able to touch me if my plan went well. However, I needed to formulate a back-up plan. Maybe an alliance with Beryl? We were from the same District and we knew each other very well. She was trained, which was always a good thing, and I knew her weaknesses as well so I had an advantage if she tries to kill me. I know she won't though, it's not her style and we weren't planning on attacking each other yet anyway. Beats allying with a tribute from another District who had less reason to be quite as loyal. Betrayers and pretend weaklings and outright threats always posed a problem.

It wasn't going to make any difference in the end though; I was going to make it home no matter what and kill whoever stood directly between me and the crown in the final two.

Me or Beryl. Made sense since she was my District partner, nothing more. Or so I kept telling myself. I caught her staring at me and when she realised I could see her she looked away slightly guiltily. Nice to know she regretted volunteering when I was going in with her. I still wasn't happy with her about that and sure as hell was I going to let her know that.

Just like I had let my mentor and Slate know.

So she had better be scared.


	4. Playing it crazy

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games**

Chapter Three

**_Beryl Streep, _**

**_District Three,_**

As soon as the doors had closed behind me, preventing the cameras from seeing anything, Adrian loses his calm demeanour. He lashes out and sends a glass lamp flying against the train wall before glaring at me.

"Why the hell did you volunteer?" He shouts. The rage in his eyes is so absolute that I take a couple of steps back and find myself against a wall. Great, I was now trapped like a rabbit under headlights while Adrian looked ready to murder somebody, "This year? Out of all the possible years you had to go in?" Before I know what he's doing, he slams me against the wall and imprisons my wrists in his hands, "You don't even like the Hunger Games." He hisses at me, his face kissing-close to mine, "And you're fifteen. Fifteen." His grip on my wrist is like a vice. I'm pretty sure that he's restricting the blood circulation there and it's not a nice feeling.

"How was I supposed to know that you would be reaped? _Ladies first,_" I mimicked Electra's voice in a creepily pitch-perfect tone. I liked to think that my uncanny knack for mimicry would be of some use in a life-or-death situation like this one. It also stopped my voice from trembling. That was definitely another plus side.

Adrian just rolled his eyes, "Well let me see. I think the fact that a certain somebody," He jabbed a finger at my chest, "Who happens to kill the mayor would face repercussions. And it's not just you the Capitol punishes. It's me as well." He was gripping my shoulders now and it was starting to hurt, "Want to know why?"

"Because they want to try and break me so that they can use me as an example of what happens when you mess with the Capitol." I recite in a bored tone. I'm proud of the fact that my voice still stays even and doesn't betray my true feelings, "I do know this. Don't blame me, I didn't particularly want to volunteer."

"Don't try to worm your way out of this," He snarls, "If you didn't want to volunteer then why did you?"

"Didn't you notice the Peace-keepers advancing towards me? They were gonna shoot me anyway if I hadn't." The pitch of my voice goes up slightly as I remember seeing them slowly encircle me like wolves around a deer.

He shakes his head in disgust, "How would you know? If they wanted you so bad in the Hunger Games this year then they would have just reaped you like they always do. You know how they work."

I try and shrug indifferently but it's kind of hard when you're in my position, "Don't you know anything about the Capitol? They like playing with their food before eating it. Why do you think the Games exist?"

I might as well have slapped him in the face for all the good those words did me. "Nice to know," He replies icily, "Nice to know that you've gambled away both our lives just because you _think _the Peace-keepers were going to shoot you if you hadn't volunteered. Real good to know." He towers over me as I look up into his eyes, "When will you ever learn to think before you act?" He continues chastising me in this manner but to me, his voice fades into the background like the chirping of birds as I think.

Another thought strikes me, "Wait a minute, " I say, metaphorical cogs in my brain turning, "They haven't revoked that rule yet, have they?"

Adrian looks annoyed at the fact that I wasn't listening to all of his ranting, "The rule saying that two tributes from the same district can win?" He says sceptically. When I nod, he just looks at me pityingly, "That rule's been around since the 74th Hunger Games and no two victors have won this thing yet. Nobody's willing to present themselves as star-crossed lovers anyway. Unless you want to."

"If this is your way of asking me out, I'm afraid I have to say no. You're really not my type." My answer doesn't appear to have a great reaction on Adrian, not like I was expecting it to. His eyes flash and he grips my wrist tightly. I struggle but it's pointless; I'll never be able to overpower him. For a second I think he's just going to go ahead, just go ahead and break my wrist like I can break a twig. It's a stupid thought because Adrian would never hurt me. Not even now.

He doesn't break my wrist, by the way. Forget I thought that.

"Even with your life depending on it?" He says instead.

"Of course, that would be a new low for me." I grin, glad that he hasn't done anything, "I'm not that desperate."

"Oh, thanks," He says sarcastically. His hands are pressed against the wall instead of my wrists and he appears to be slightly calmer now, "Of course, your life does depend on it. I'd be reconsidering your choices if I were you."

"My life does so not depend on snogging you." I roll my eyes, "Trust you to think of that plan."

He smirks at me, "Well it's a good plan. Honestly, you should be jumping at the opportunity to date me," He shoots me a charming smile, "I'm single, around your age and very attractive." I laugh at the last part of that sentence.

"You wish," I say, "I would hate for you to get your hopes up and then be disappointed."

He stares off into the distance, "I don't think I will be." He murmurs. I can't tell what he's thinking of but he's not angry and he's not in his joking mood anymore.

"Like you'd be interested in dating me anyway," I reply dismissively, trying to get him back to earth. It appears to work as he grins at me. Well he's obviously just kidding around.

"Well let me see, you're fifteen and I'm turning eighteen. Not the worst age difference that I can think of." He winks at me and I laugh.

We're just laughing and joking about now. He's in a better mood now and aside from the close proximity of me and him, it's just like old times. We could be laughing about how somebody reacted to one of our adventures or discussing the stupidity of the Capitol's 'fashions'.

"Yeah, we'll be all the Capitol can talk about for, well I dunno, the next week or so."

"Do you think they'll make t-shirts with us on them?" This was referring to those tacky souvenirs that the shops make to show everyone how much they love the Hunger Games. The 74th Hunger Games had brought around several new trends, mostly due to District Twelve. Gold mocking-jay pins which actually looked kind of nice and not tacky. Then you had mocking-jay watches, clothes, even hairstyles. Buy any clothing in a Capitol shop and you could buy some liquid with it so when you were at parties you could apply the stuff and look like you were on fire.

They didn't look so great.

"I doubt it. We'll probably be on Valentine cards or wedding cakes. Hope they make me taste nice." There's a small bowl on a table nearby and it's full of chocolate squares. I pop one into my mouth as I say those words and I make an appreciative sound as the sweet chocolate explodes in my mouth. The Capitol may have absolutely crappy policies but they sure knew how to make their chocolate taste amazing. I have one hand free so I'm licking my fingers while thinking.

However tacky they might be, having a souvenir or twenty dedicated to me would be pretty cool. Nobody would forget me while wearing, er, whatever piece of clothing I inspired. I was going to work on that since my token wasn't exactly something unique. It was just a piece of black string with a silver-blue ring that was attached to it. The ring had some fancy pattern engraved in it. The engraving was a dark red colour. Blood. It wouldn't come off when I tried to wash it off. That may sound morbid, having a token with blood on it but it was the only possession of any value that wasn't food or clothing. The only thing of any value that I owned.

Why did I keep it? Attached to that ring was one bittersweet memory of mine which I didn't want to forget. That ring had been the start of something so very important to me. Yeah, I might have almost died for it but I did meet Adrian. That ring symbolised the start of my friendship with Adrian. Was it more than that now? I didn't know. Did I want it to be more than was it was now? Still didn't know.

"Oh Adrian?"

"Yes?"

"You can let go of me now." He loses the small smile that's been tugging on his lips and just stares at me. Neither does he let go of me, "Adrian?"

He spins me around so his back is against the wall and with no indication of what he's going to do, he leans down and kisses me full on the lips. The taste of salt lingers on his lips and he smells faintly of wood chippings and sawdust. I'm not sure why, but I'm kissing back. Nothing seems to matter but the reassuring strength of his body as I lean against him and feeling his hand run though my hair. Then he gently moves away and I quickly work my way out of his grip. I look at him, a question pending in my eyes. Frustratingly enough, he just smiles knowingly and leaves the room. Now I'm confused – was he just messing with my head or did he actually mean it? It's not like I would know since Adrian's one of those guys who mess around with girls' heads for the hell of it. Whatever his motives were, I was so not up to facing him and my mentor quite yet. Maybe a shower would help.

I revert my last statement. Having a shower was even more stressful than I first thought. Opening the door, I was astounded by the ridiculous amount of buttons there were. None of the buttons would turn the shower on until I had yanked the chain. I was then rewarded with bucketfuls of hot water drenching me so that I couldn't see anything. Pressing all the buttons in an attempt to make me smell nice hadn't really worked either. Now I smelt like a bizarre mix of strawberries, cinnamon and vanilla. Well it could have been worse – one button made you smell like fresh paint while another made you reek like you had just been smoking. What was is with the Capitol and their weird fetishes? That's when I had realised that I would miss the re-caps of the Reapings if I didn't hurry up so I just pressed another random combination of buttons and hoped for the best. It paid off and now I didn't smell like a dustbin. If there's one good thing about all of this, the showers are awesome. Once you know what all those weird button thingys do.

Half an hour later, I was wringing my hair with a kitten-soft towel and wearing a simple dark blue tee with skinny jeans. It's nice wearing clothes which are 1) clean and 2) actually fit you.

Yes, that was how poor I was. So poor that clean, well-fitting clothes were luxuries. I didn't really mind – aside from being perpetually covered in dirt. In fact, I enjoyed not being situated in one location. Not having to obey the same rules as everyone else. Nobody told me when I could do this or do that. But now I have none of that freedom. Now I'm placed in a tight schedule when I like having a free day. Forced to roll around like a cute little puppy performing for the screaming masses, not having any idea of what the hell was happening to you.

Plenty of pretty trinkets that don't mean a thing though.

Wrapping the towel around my now-black curls, I casually strolled though the automatic doors to where my annoying escort, my even more annoying District partner and our as-yet-unknown-as-to-how-annoying-they-are mentors, Zayna and Beetee. Beetee won by rigging the arena to kill off the Careers that were hunting him while Zayna won the 76th Hunger Games via single-handedly killing four of the Careers. How did she manage this? By demonstrating a wicked flair for throwing knifes while hiding in some bushes. This was a shock to most of Panem. After all, she had pretended to be a weakling and evidently it had worked. Leading to me having a nice, varied choice for mentors which was always a good thing. The reapings were about to start, I noticed, and I hurriedly sat next to Adrian, trying to ignore him smirking triumphantly.

Firstly, it was District One. A tall girl with hair that was obviously dyed (nobody has blonde hair that bright) volunteered from the seventeen-year old section with an average-looking guy who had light brown hair and a few muscles to boot. Nobody particularly interesting, probably typical Careers but not anything special. Aside from the girl, she looked like someone I had seen before. Maybe she had a victor in her family bloodline somewhere. If that was the case, then she would have definitely received training. Even more than the usual tribute. Apart from that, there was a possibility that I could defeat them but I guess I'll see about that.

District Two would definitely be a threat though as a smirking, well-built boy lunged forwards to volunteer. A pale, dark-haired girl with striking blue eyes had strode up to the stage beforehand. They kept exchanging glances with each other which led me to believe they knew each other fairly well. No chance of them killing each other off then. Then my reaping came on. You can see me raising my hand confidently as the small girl was picked, strolling towards the platform without a care in the world as I volunteered. I didn't look like the Peace-keepers were going to torture or kill me if I hadn't. Speaking of, I bet they had done that deliberately as they watched me play their stupid game exactly how they wanted me to. Must be funny watching someone do exactly what you want them to. They weren't going to be laughing if I was crowned victor, were they? Meanwhile Adrian scowled slightly as he was reaped. I hoped the fact that we weren't exactly giving each other pleasant looks would be overlooked by the others.

The rest of the reapings went by in a blur after that so only a few really stuck out in my head. A mountain for a guy that volunteered with a small, wind-swept girl from District Four, the altercation with Peace-keepers that was caused by the District Six boy, the confidence that seemed to radiate off the tributes from Districts Seven and Nine and finally the District Eleven girl, Hayliana, who had shouted at the escort that her name was Hayley. She also looked tough. Well I think she was, it was hard to tell due to all the baggy clothing she wore. Then a typical pair of District Twelve tributes were picked – starved, malnourished and didn't look like they were hiding anything up their sleeves. Bloodbaths for sure.

Beetee turned off the TV and turns to us, "So then, who do you think are going to be competition?"

"Apart from the Careers?" I ask, "Well probably that guy from Six, the tributes from Seven and Nine and maybe the District Eleven girl." Then I add, "And definitely the girl from District Three." I say this with a superior smirk at my fellow tribute. Said tribute rolled his eyes at that a few seconds later. I lose my smirk when I realise just how many tributes looked like competition. At least half of the people reaped had looked capable of killing me. Well, capable of snuffing out a perky fifteen-year old from District Three. Capable of killing a sneaky, unpredictable killer (might not have intended to kill but that didn't change the fact that my hands had blood on them). Hopefully my first impressions were wrong and they weren't going to be trouble.

I know that might not make much sense to many people, me 'unintentionally' killing someone. More than once, actually. But it's happened before and it'll definitely happen again if I want to survive. Survival of the strongest. And I'm not just talking about how much muscle you have.

Muscles don't save you from your throat being slit in your sleep. Training before the Hunger Games didn't make you any more immune to being blown sky-high by an explosion. Deadly combat skills made no difference when you were encased like a fly in a web, waiting for the sly, sneaky but physically weak spider of a tribute to come along and kill them.

Well it certainly hadn't helped the Peace-keepers when I had bashed their skulls in with a baseball bat, crowbar or – when nothing else was available – a dustbin lid.

I hope I hadn't killed anyone with a dustbin lid. That would be an awful way of dying, wouldn't it?

_Beryllium Diane Streep, aged 15. Killed by repeated whacks to the head with a dustbin lid. _

It just doesn't strike me as the way I want to leave this world. After all my efforts and then I'm taken out by something so mundane.

Anyway, I don't think I have. For one, I'm not strong enough to inflict a sufficient amount of damage to someone's head with one strike. Two, it's a _dustbin lid._ They aren't exactly made to be used as oddly-shaped clubs. No, they exist so that you don't have to look at the rubbish that a bin usually contains as you pass. Also, if you push one over, the lid stops some of the rubbish from falling out. From past experience though, dustbin lids succeed at neither of those.

Why was I thinking about dustbin lids at a time like this? My life was on the line and I couldn't just knock out my opponents and run away like I always did. Not with nowhere to hide and nobody to turn to. Not with the Capitol urging you to give your victim the bloodiest death you can think of. No, this time I was going to have to kill. Now I just had to decide how I was going to go about this. Not now, of course, Beetee had probably responded during my lapse of attention.

_Note to self: concentrate more often._

Contrary to my last few thoughts, he hasn't done much. Beetee just asks, "Do you two want to train together or separately?"

"Together," Adrian says immediately while I just shrug to show the level of my indifference to this matter. We already know what the other person is capable of. Not much point trying to hide it now. Hell, he's taught me some of the stuff I know and although I know a few moves in evasion and a few offensive tactics outside the training, he has the advantage if we ever fight face-to-face. Not a good position to be in.

Beetee turns to Adrian, "Do you have any skills that I should know about?"

He nods, "Sword-fighting and hand-to-hand combat. I can also throw knives and spears fairly well."

Beetee looks surprised but then I interject, "I'm also somewhat handy with a sword." This I punctuate with a grin, "I'm quite good at throwing knives. I'm alright when it comes to using a spear." I add the last part modestly. My spear-throwing might pale in comparison when Adrian was around but if I had a spear in my hand in close-range combat, I was definitely a force to be reckoned with. I was good enough to get myself higher than a seven or eight in training, I think. Well I guess having a low training score didn't really matter as long as I had a spear in the arena. I also don't mention the fact that I know where pressure points are, or the fact that I do know something about fighting with no weapons.

Suffice to say, I wasn't as defenceless as you might think. However I preferred having a weapon in my hand. You know, a spear to kick ass and take names. Or so the saying goes.

He observes us critically, "So you're saying that you've had training. Both of you." We nod and he turns to me, "You volunteered. Are you going to join the Careers?"

You must be kidding me. Join the Careers? Join the freaking _Careers? _

Join the bunch of arrogant idiots that do nothing but strut around the place intimidating and killing everyone? Up until a few years ago, no District Three tribute would think of doing such a thing. But then Ian had rigged the land-mines in the 74th Hunger Games so that they worked again and since then most tributes from Three were vying for a chance to get in the Careers. That's probably why training had started up in my District. Might be secret and I don't think the Capitol was privately funding it, but training is training.

If we weren't careful, we were going to be labelled as Career tributes and earn the hatred of most of Panem. The other Career districts wouldn't be too fond of us either. Well having another pair of threats join the Hunger Games wouldn't go down well with most of them. I knew I wouldn't be jumping around with delight at another two potential threats. Unless they happened to be the type that loved 'challenges'. The fact that some of the Careers actually enjoy killing just conveys their utter idiocy and how unbalanced the whole bunch of them were. There is no thrill from killing. If you do, it is purely psychological. As in, it's not the action itself that you enjoy, it's the supposed rush that people get when sticking a sword in somebody's heart. Personally I didn't get this but maybe that'll change when my victims are innocent children who have done nothing to me before this.

My point still stands: anybody who finds killing fun needs to see a doctor as soon as possible. Also, Careering was so not fashionable for District Three. Honestly, was I the only one who paid attention to this unofficial Hunger Games rule?

"Wasn't part of my plan." I say neutrally.

"It's part of mine." Adrian says, none too quietly either.

In the silence that follows, I stare at Adrian in shock, "What? You can't be serious." If I wasn't going to be in the Career alliance, I was kind of expecting Adrian to back me up and ally with me.

He looks at me calmly, "If I get into their alliance, I'll have six of the most dangerous tributes on my side with a large amount of supplies. Once they see that I'm not going to hold them back they'll let me in."

"And be in more danger of being stabbed in the back. It's not like they'll see you as an equal or anything. When they disband you'll be the first person they'll target."

"I'm not going to give them that opportunity. I'll leave before then and strike it out on my own."

Before I can reply, Beetee interrupts with his first piece of advice, "The rule declaring that both tributes from the same District can win still applies. Wouldn't making an alliance with each other be a better idea? After all, you don't need to kill each other. Therefore, you can eliminate the threat of being stabbed in the back as it wouldn't be logical for any of you two."

I nod to acknowledge his advice and then go back to the conversation, "I'm still not joining the Careers."

Adrian sighs irritatedly, "Don't be stupid, Beryl. If I join, then they'll target you first so that I have less of a chance at winning."

"Don't join then."

"Why are you so set on not joining them anyway?"

It takes me less than two seconds to think of a reply, "Is it not obvious? District Three tributes do not join the Career pack. Ever. Do you not remember the insane number of District Three tributes who die at the hands of the Careers? They'll do that to you in a heartbeat."

"Of course they kill the other District three tributes," He states confidently, "All of them were weak," When Beetee turns his head to stare at Adrian like an owl (which I have to admit is slightly unnerving), he hastily adds, "The tributes that didn't have any notable skills or strategies, that is."

I giggle slightly at how quickly he formulated that last statement, "And you're saying you aren't?"

He smirks at me before flexing his admittedly impressive muscles for all of us to see, "It's not everyday you see a tribute from this district do something like this," Adrian – without any warning – picks me up by the waist and spins me around before placing me on his shoulders. Holding one hand to my leg, he casually walks over to the cutlery laid out on the table, picks up a knife and throws it at the train wall. The blade is lodged a good four inches into the panelling, enough to kill a person if thrown at the right areas. While he did this, I was busy shimmying my way out of his grip and onto the floor.

"Very impressive," I grin at him, "But I can do better." Lunging for a handful of knives, I fling them at the wall with seemingly effortless precision and swiftness, making a picture on the wall. Towards the end I begin to run out of knives and I start throwing forks instead. When I've done, I lean back and admire my accuracy. The knives and forks I threw make the shape of a smiley face. The right side of the mouth is a little bit wonky because forks are not quite as aerodynamic as knives are but apart from that, the smiley face is quite neat-looking, "Beat that."

He raises an eyebrow, "So that's your tactic?" He asks me, "Making pictures with your throwing knives?"

"Yes, yes it is ," I announce grandly. Then I pick up steam as I make up one of my tactics of winning the Games, "I'll make pretty little pictures with throwing knives. Then I shall wait for a tribute to come along and admire my amazing artwork and while they're distracted, I'll throw a knife or spear at them. It's flawless."

Adrian laughs at me; he knows I'm only kidding, "So, I'm taking it that you're not going to have any allies then?"

I shrug my shoulders non-committally, "Maybe I will, maybe I won't. If I'm in a forest, an ally from District Eleven beats the Careers any day. They'll be my way of getting food and I'll protect them."

Disregard the fact that if my ally dies that I'll be on my own with nobody backing me up and my method of obtaining food cut off. But I don't actually want to ally with anyone else except Adrian. Aside from the fact that he was vying for a space in the Careers. Didn't matter too much as long as he stayed alive. I preferred working alone.

"Other tributes can kill you in your sleep too."

"Not if I ally with someone who can't fight as well as I can." This would be helpful when asking for an alliance but I hated having to work with people who preferred to run than attack. Especially when they had a good chance of winning the fight. If it was you against the Career pack then running was your only option. Nobody was capable of taking out all of the Careers single-handedly, although achieving such a feat would be great for a job application in the army.

He looks at me oddly, "If you do, they'll hold you back when fighting."

I adapt a nonchalant tone as I say, "Then I'll break off the alliance if we're losing."

"That's a bit sneaky for you, isn't it?"

"Sneaky is my middle name."

"Really?" He raises an eyebrow again, "I thought your middle name was Diane."

I playfully swat his arm, "Not literally."

Beetee interrupts our conversation, "I'm taking it that Adrian is with the Careers and Beryl will be looking for an alliance in training." I scowl at the mention of Adrian being a Career but nod anyway. Adrian does likewise. When we do, Beetee gets up and leaves the room. As he reaches the door he says, "Adrian, I'll see you in fifteen minutes in the Training Centre. We're arriving at the Capitol now." He leaves without further notice as the sunlight streaming in from the windows is cut off. It looks like we have entered the tunnels leading to the Capitol. It's the only way to enter the Capitol since it's surrounded by mountains. Like a giant palm encasing a gem in it's grip, only the mountains aren't going to crush the Capitol. In a few minutes my eyes are looking around in amazement at the multitude of colours that is the city I'll be staying in for the duration of the pre-Games. Skyscrapers the colour of candy, massive apartment complexes bustling with life and beautifully-crafted ornate buildings in what I presume is the City Circle. Well they're surrounding a plaza that's the shape of a (you've guessed it) a circle so I'm presuming it is.

"Whoa," I breathe, spellbound by all of it. I have to admit, the craftsmanship that have gone into these buildings is certainly impressive. Adrian lets out an appreciative whistle.

Captivated by the Capitol, I fail to notice the screaming crowds until Adrian pokes me in the side, "Ow." I complain and he just chuckles. I turn to the window where the crowd awaits and try not to let my distaste show. Any effects the Capitol have had on me is instantly undone the moment I set my eyes on the people. Ugh, they were such idiots, obsessing fruitlessly over trivial things like leopard-print handbags or if pink sparkly eye-shadow was fashionable right now. Were they even human beings? Anyone would think that they had been transported from planet Earth to some alien world where pink hair and massive eyes were commonplace. And their voices – I was going to have to put up with this screeching for the next few days. And then they called themselves 'normal'.

If they were normal, then we must look like freaks to them. Maybe that's how they saw us – Neanderthals from a foreign place who had tried to destroy their blissful, if contrived, way of life. Aliens that deserved to be punished in every way for being different, right down to how we looked. Well I guess it made the whole concept of children torturing and killing each other a lot easier to deal with.

If I looked like them, would they sympathise with me more? Understand that we are actually people and that we personally haven't done anything to deserve such a horrific fate?

Something off-topic to my current thoughts occurs to me. Something that really should have occurred to me earlier, "Hang on a minute, aren't we supposed to be mentored together?" Yeah, I can be a slow thinker. Slow but steady. Well they did say slow and steady won the race.

His only response is to shrug, "Difference alliances, remember?"

"I guess it doesn't really make a difference. We know what the other can do, I mean."

"I guess."

"So," I put extra emphasis on the _so, _"Our mentors don't seem too sociable, do the – " I stop as I realise that one of our mentors is still in the room. I turn to face the person that is responsible for my life in the arena.

So Beetee might not say very much but my mentor – Zayna – hasn't even said hello. I highly doubt she's noticed our existence as she stares dreamily into space, a placid smile tugging at her face. Her pupils had shrunk and looked like a drop of black ink had stained a piece of grey paper. Unless her pupils just looked tiny against her massive eyes. Those eyes – those vacant grey eyes – contrasted drastically with the light blonde, messily-cut hair that was draped over her jutting cheekbones and her ribs were prominent though the light blue skin-tight tee she wore. Her features might be child-like but the fact that several needles lay on the table just outside her reach ruined this impression almost immediately.

Warily, I reached out to try and get her to respond. What was Zayna's reaction? Sharp nails digging into my wrist, that was what. Yeah, it wasn't quite what I was expecting. Zayna had stood up like a puppet with it's strings pulled tight and her eyes now fixated themselves onto me in surprise. Mouth open slightly, she released my hand and I rubbed it ruefully while Zayna looked like she was trying to concentrate. I just kind of shuffled my feet awkwardly and exchanged a dismayed glance with Adrian. If this was my mentor then I was pretty much screwed already. Just because I had a varied choice of mentors didn't mean they were all up to the mentoring thing. Not like I could blame them but it really wasn't appreciated when my own live was at stake here.

Adrian just smirked at me in a _I-told-you-that-you're-screwed _way. He seemed to use that expression more and more these days.

"Good luck with her, you'll need it." He didn't say anything else before he took off in the direction Beetee had taken off in.

Thanks for that, Adrian.

Gently, I pulled my supposed mentor up as she had collapsed against the table while I was distracted. Well actually, I had to carry her as she had passed out. Which was proving difficult as I wasn't exactly the strongest girl around. Also, Zayna was around eighteen and although she was ridiculously light for someone her age, it was still a struggle for me to lug her around to a couch in the mentor's part of the carriage. She had been fifteen when she had won the Games. I remembered those quite clearly, since our District winning wasn't an everyday occasion. Her opponents had dropped like dominoes when she had unleashed her knives. One of the Careers had fallen on top of her when he had attacked her and the blood streaming out of his body was wrapping itself around her neck, as if he was trying to avenge his death. Her face was the dictionary definition of horror as her stormy grey eyes – at the time alight with emotion – met the porcelain doll ones of the child that she had killed.

Fifteen years old. That was my age.

Was I going to turn out like her if I ever left the arena? Depressed, aimless, turning to drugs or alcohol to escape what memories you picked up when you were there? Having to mentor a pair of tributes who weren't much younger than you before watching them die, year after year? Having to celebrate the event that ruined your life every six months with the Victory Tours and the actual Hunger Games? Even if I won, there was a high possibility that Adrian would die – never mind the newly installed rule, the chances of us both winning were very slim in any case. Sure, I could hope and pray that one of us would make it though but where had hope ever gotten me? Nowhere good, that's as much as I know.

On the other hand, maybe it should be Adrian who wins. After all, he has a chance, what with all his extra training and all. Well okay, training wasn't everything but it did help a lot. It wouldn't be excessively difficult if the arena happens to be somewhere over-used, like a forest. He'll also benefit from winning more and he has more to go back to.

Well actually, he doesn't but – much as I hate to admit it – he isn't going to miss the other person as much. Well why would he? I was just a annoying reject straight from an orphanage with nothing to go back to. Just a girl that he had picked up one day. Sure I had some skills but he could probably beat me in a fight if strength was required. And I might call him my friend, but he was kind of the only one I had due to my lifestyle. I don't think many people would be friends with me even if I did have a normal existence. Something about me being too sarcastic or something.

Then I remembered how he had reacted when I had volunteered. The urgency in the way he had moved when he had me pinned up against the wall. The kiss. How could I ever forget that?

So maybe he did care for me a bit more than he lets on. That would be nice, but definitely inconvenient. How was I supposed to act now anyway? Allies? Enemies? Friends? I didn't have a clue.

Well I was so not acting like his girlfriend, just to clear that up right now. If Adrian thought that I would be swooning around like some romantic ditz then he would be waiting a long time. Why would anybody suddenly decide to fall in love with your District partner in the Hunger Games? I shall repeat this, the _Hunger Games. _You know, that yearly event where twenty-four children kill each other until one tribute is left? Well this year it can be two tributes but the Capitol were hardly going to want a bunch of sappy and pathetic love-birds winning, were they? Love. Is. A. Weakness.

It's a weakness that other tributes can – and will – exploit. Maybe they'll attack the two tributes and keep the weaker one (which always tends to be the girl, which really annoys me. Does everybody think girls are weaker or something?) as hostage. Then they'll hurt one love-bird to emotionally torment the other one. And it always works when this has been done. Even though everyone knew that the Hunger Games wasn't the place to fall in love anyway. Because the age for true love is obviously thirteen and a half years old. More like true heartbreak and emotional torture.

Did I want this happening to me? No. Therefore romance was just not happening. A small part of me wonders if Adrian actually means this or not but I shove it aside – of course he doesn't. He couldn't have picked a worse time to tell me if he did and Adrian was smarter than that. Well, I think he was, anyway.

Nobody was that stupid, were they? To flaunt off this glaringly obvious weakness in front of the Careers. No, he couldn't mean it.

Not enough to count. Not enough to rival that small matter of life and death.

All those thoughts were running though my head as I gently placed my mentor on the couch. There was something cold in one of her pockets and – being the nosy girl I am – I took it out. In my hand was one slim needle with some translucent liquid. Inwardly I sighed. How exactly was I going to get any advice or sponsors from her? That might be a cold-hearted reaction to the situation but I didn't actually, you know, want to die.

How much time did it take for someone to become functional once they had stopped taking morphine? A day? A week? A year? Something like that, I wasn't actually sure and it's not like I've ever had personal experience with morphine. Even if I wanted to – which I don't – it would be unattainable unless I stole it from the homes of District Three's elite. Which wasn't impossible but a bit extreme just to ruin your body. It wasn't even logical; eventually the morphine meant that your reflexes would be stunted and you'd be caught for stealing. The consequences were enough to put most people off stealing in any case. Well not me, but I had been desperate. Actually, I still was. Living on the Capitol's mercy, your every heartbeat controlled by them. They weren't going to ever leave me alone now.

While I was thinking this, I further observed my mentor. Yeah, Adrian had a massive advantage over me if this was going to be the extent of my education. Then I noticed her arms.

Now as far as I know, most morphine addicts inject themselves in their arms. And needle injections tend to leave scars if you do it again and again and again. So most addicts have lovely arms, peppered with black marks from too many injections of the stuff. Note the sarcasm on the word 'lovely'. Were Zayna's arms like this? Nope, hers were pale, skinny, slightly too bony.

And perfectly unmarked.

It's a good thing that I notice this because it's at this moment that Zayna loses her unfocused expression and lunges at me. With surprising strength, she pins me to the floor and breathes in my face.

She's definitely not as addicted to this drug as I originally thought. Vaguely I wonder how nobody else has noticed this until I see the jacket Zayna knocked over that is now on the floor. Must have covered up her arms. Adrian wasn't paying any attention to her so I don't think he's figured this out yet. Beetee surely would have found out by now, which leads me to suspect that he's in the know for this.

This being me, I say the first stupid thing that comes to mind when Zayna is on top of me, "Ever heard of toothpaste?"

My mentor looks impassively at me, "What?"

I squirm around a bit, not really comfortable with my elbow digging into the couch, "You haven't heard of toothpaste? Can I give you some advise and use it? Or some breath-mints? Your breath really stinks."

She looks offended, "So you're going into the Hunger Games with twenty-three other kids, most of which are trying to kill you and you're worrying about my breath?"

I pretend to think about this for a moment, "Yes, yes I am actually. Wait, is this practice for when a tribute has me trapped and is threatening me while breathing horrid breath everywhere? Because if it is, you're doing a great job so far. Excellent mentoring right there. Do all the tributes get this opportunity?" My voice is deliberately perky, in a good way. Not in the annoying way the Capitolite idiots tend to do. I mean in a way that means everybody knows that you're in a good mood.

She looks at me weirdly, not dissimilar to the way Adrian looked at me a few minutes earlier, "Strange child," She mumbles. Have I mentioned that she has an accent? It's kind of posh. No, regal. Well I don't know since I am clueless with accents but it reminds me of a bell chiming. Whatever accent is it, it's a nice one.

"Strange mentor," I retort in Zayna's voice, using my amazing skills of impersonation. My real voice is devoid of any accent and makes everything I say sound either flat or sarcastic. On the plus side, I am amazing at making my voice sound like whoever I want it to so the issue of my voice sounding boring is resolved, "Who pretends to be a drug addict?" I continue in my real voice.

Her eyes flash, "You would if you didn't have a choice," She gets off me and continues in a scathing tone as I get up, "You're so selfish, you volunteers. Thinking that you're automatically going to win just because everyone else was reaped. And not even sparing a thought to the victors that didn't want this in the first place." She walks around me like a shark swims around a fish, examining me while I stand there gormless, "Do you think being a victor is great?"

I consider this. The Hunger Games had been my only option aside from imminent death and trust me, when faced with a measly few seconds to make a choice between certain death with no chance of any reprieve being granted and almost-certain death which will be televised and with less than a five percent chance of living, you'd take the second one. Most people would.

Did I volunteer for the glory of winning? Glory? What glory? Killing wasn't glamorous. Killing kids was way, way less than glamorous. It was even worse than what I had done. Ending the lives of people who meant you harm was self-defence. Killing children, some of which could be twelve, who had never done anything to you is kind of crossing the line. It's not like I can say, "Killing is wrong. End of. I will never hurt another living soul if my life depended on it" with a straight face. Hell, I would be a hypocrite if I did because I've already cut short lives' to extend my own.

I didn't sign up because I enjoyed murdering people. In reality, I was only here to save my own ass but nobody was going to see it that way. Wasn't reaped for the Hunger Games, has been trained, confident. That was a open invitation for people to go and shout ''CAREER!'' at me. Oh, well they would do when they realised I could adeptly handle a knife and spear. If I didn't get called a District Three Career and targeted at the bloodbath then I would be called a weakling and there's a chance that the Game-makers won't consider me worth sparing when their muttations come out to play. I can't win either way.

Well it's time to set the record straight then.

"Look," I say, "I don't particularly want the title of victor. I don't think being a victor is actually that great. Sounds depressing to me, having to mentor a pair of tributes every year. You obviously can't think it's that amazing either if you're complaining at me for volunteering."

Zayna then asks the same question Adrian did, "Why did you volunteer if you don't want to win? Do you have a death wish?"

I straighten myself up and pace around the room while I answer, "I don't want to win, I just want to live. Basically, I was going to die anyway and the Hunger Games has a higher chance of me living longer than I would have done. Also, I saved a twelve-year old. That's definitely going to get me sponsors, right?" She nods and I continue, "Not like I can tell you why I was going to die or anything..." I trail off as I think my next words carefully, "Wait! You must know. Everyone else in Three does."

She nods again. Zayna and Beetee do that an awful lot, "Just wondering if you had another motive for volunteering. Being a victor offers a lot of money and fame, you know."

"Eh," I move my hand in a half-and-half motion. Not approving, not totally disapproving, "Much as it would be cool to be famous and have my name in history books forever, being a victor wouldn't really help that much. And money? I've done fine without that much in my pocket, I don't really need anymore. I don't mind having those things, it's just that I can live without them," I find a chair that faces Zayna and sit on it, "I'm happy enough as I am. Well I was."

She doesn't ask why. I don't see why she would; any idiot could see how my life wasn't exactly at it's peak right now. Instead she goes back to something I said earlier, "You want to live, don't you. You and your friend." She puts no suggestive emphasis on 'friend' which is appreciated. I don't date people and if I did, it probably wouldn't be with Adrian. Honestly, the thought of it is so weird to me.

I nod, then add, "Yeah. However I'm going to have to win for that to happen. But winning isn't what I want to do. I'll never be fulfilled if I do win." Then I cover up my mouth because that last sentence sounded so stupid. Might be true, but it's still kind of stupid. Seriously, those words should have never ever left my mouth. If anyone else had heard me now and then, even if Adrian had heard those words, it would have started a relentless wave of mockery aimed at me from the citizens of the lovely and charming District Three.

However, this is Zayna and apparently mocking people isn't how she rolls, which is much appreciated, "Well you're in the Games now and I have a plan that I think you'll approve of. I'll help you, on two conditions."

"Fire away." I say. This is ten times more help than I thought I would receive from Zayna. I know that she's not as helpless as she looks and she knows that I'm not just another psychotic, brain-washed Career that happened to originate from a non-Career district. We're doing well so far.

"You're not going to tell your District partner about any of what I'm about to tell you." That is her first request. I don't see how this advice is going to be so amazing that Adrian can't know about it but I nod anyway, "And it would be nice if you didn't tell anyone about this." She gestures to the syringes and I gather that she doesn't want the Capitol to know that her mental health is actually intact.

"Isn't the train bugged?" I ask. Zayna shakes her head. I offer my hand out,  
"Well then, looks like I'm in."


	5. With strings attached

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games  
**

Chapter Four

**_Felix Wilds, _**

**_District Two,_**

"Wow, this is just fabulous, isn't it?"

I barely spared a glance as Xenia pranced into my bedroom dressed in nothing but flannel. She had wrapped a towel tightly around her slim figure and another masqueraded as a turban. Her blue eyes shined in excitement but dimmed slightly at my lack of interest. I don't know why she was so surprised – I was eager for my Hunger Games to begin and being submerged in all of this unnecessary pandering and fussing was hardly doing wonders to my patience.

"Yes, very nice," I reply non-committally, not even looking up. I really didn't care for the so-called fashions of the Capitol as I was more interested in actually competing in the Hunger Games. Who cares what a tribute looks like, it's not going to stop me from running a sword though them. Or save them from a Game-maker's trap. The prospect of being surrounded by beautiful women was definitely an appealing one though, although half of the tributes would be male and most of the female half would either be too young or not attractive. I sighed inwardly as that fantasy was ruined.

Xenia sighed in irritation, "Honestly Felix, we've trained most of our lives for this moment. You should be way more thrilled than this. We are in the Capitol at last. I've been waiting for this moment since I was a child and here we are." Her voice turns reverent at that last part of her sentence.

I finally look up at Xenia's face, taking in her features which were currently in a incredulous expression. Her stunning blue eyes which were framed by long, dark eyelashes. Sharp cheekbones which were softened by her dark-chocolate brown hair. Luscious lips which were painted a dark red. Fair skin that only made her eyes stand out even more. No freckles or scars marred that silky smooth skin anywhere on her body. Well I would know. "No, I trained my entire life for the moment I win the Hunger Games. Not for the moment the Capitol sees what I look like in their stupid clothes."

"Same thing," She says dismissively, not caring about the fact that being a victor and being a model were two totally different things, "And their clothes aren't stupid. Did you see that top our escort was wearing? It would look amazing on me, don't you think?"

Our escort's top had been a dark red v-top that had left little to the imagination. Very little. You would have been hard-pressed to not have noticed her. I smirked, "I bet you would of."

She beamed and whipped out the top, along with a pair of denim shorts that looked expensive, "Ta daaa. I'm going to try it on now." She then stood there and tapped her foot expectantly while I just sit on the bed with a superior expression on my face. "That's the part where you turn around." I glare at her; nobody told me what to do, especially not Xenia. How many times did I have to show her that until she got the message?

"I don't think so," I stand up and walk slowly over towards her as she dropped the top she was holding.

She blushed slightly, "What do you propose then?" Her fingers fiddled with the collar of her white top and she was purposely biting her lip.

"This," I say before pulling her into a hug and kiss her. She doesn't resist and her hands move around my body, playing with my hair, tracing my face gently. My hands are cupped around her head to hold her while our lips touch. Eventually, she makes a soft moan and tries to pull back. I stop but lift her off her feet and spin her around before letting go. She giggles and plays with a strand of her hair, which I note with satisfaction that it's now slightly ruffled. I look at her in the eyes and, like always, she gets the message instantly.

"Sorry honey but I think we're arriving at the Capitol in a few minutes."

I raise an eyebrow, "Excuse me?" My voice is questioning her unwise decision. If I asked for something I got it. Xenia was in no position to refuse.

Her eyes widen as this realisation dawns on her. Before I can react, she's out of my arms and starts sprinting towards the bathroom. I'm up on my feet and chase after her. However her head start means that she can open the door, get inside the bathroom and lock it before I can reach her.

Frustrated, I kick at the door and watch it rattle slightly from the power in my kicks, "Xenia, open the damn door now." I shout, giving the door one last, especially vicious kick.

"I'm getting changed." Her voice is muffled slightly. Since I didn't notice her pick up her newly-acquired red top or her shorts, I look around before finding her top in a heap on the floor.

Picking it up, I raise my voice slightly, "But I have your top here, _darling,"_ I put a sneering emphasis on the endearment, " If you don't unlock the door right now, you're not going to see it again."

"Give it back." She whines but I don't respond to her demand. There's a slight pause before she unlocks the door and peeks out of it. Making sure that I'm not going to pounce on her, no doubt.

Waving her top tantalisingly in front of her, I smirk at her when she tries to snatch it off me. I grab her wrist with my other hand and use it to draw her in. I fling the top over to the other side of the room so I have both hands free. Shoving her to the floor, I lie on her as she struggles. Of course she stands no chance against me. I'm far stronger than she is and know a good portion of moves that she can make. Her options are rather limited however, for obvious reasons.

"Don't," I whisper harshly to her, "Try doing anything like that again. You'll get what's coming for you in the arena if you do."

Her eyes widen in fear. Fear of me. A rush of power flows though me as she continues to struggle, to no avail. She's mine to toy around with now and Xenia is all too aware of this fact, "You won't hurt me," Her voice is uneven in pitch as panic begins to set in, "You need me."

I laugh at this. I don't need her that much, she's just here for my convenience. At least, that was the whole point of recruiting her. I can't feel anything for her. The rule, the rule saying that two tributes could win the Hunger Games, wasn't even in place when I first met Xenia. She's just a pawn, that's all. A weak little pawn that meant I didn't have to worry about my own District partner betraying me first or being able to beat me in a fight. A puppet that I could manipulate to my advantage without anybody laying the blame on me. Not something that I actually cared about. It's not like I really cared about anybody else.

Somehow, I'm not even fooling myself. But it's not like I'm ever going to let my District partner know this, "Oh do I?" I ask her, "Well then, you'd better listen now, then. You're nothing. _Nothing._ Just another wannabe trainee from District Two. There are hundreds of them around. No friends, no family and no career. You're not even that great at fighting. Who's ever going to miss you?"

Her eyes flash with pain, "Don't you care at all?" She croaks, her eyes shining again, this time with tears and not a naïve joyfulness that she's always clung on to during her childhood.

Those words, those five simple words were the equivalent of me being slammed into a brick wall. Because it's obvious to me that I'm not totally indifferent to her company. That I get something from this aside from just using her to propel me into the spotlight. To her, I'm probably some monster that forced her into this. But I'm not. Well, I'm not a complete and utter monster, I'll dare say that much is true.

However, I prefer it if nobody knew this. Not even Xenia. Just because I felt something for her didn't mean she could screw around with me.

I slam her head into the floor with my palm while pretending to be offended, "As if I could possibly care for someone like you. It'll ruin me."

"Yeah, because you're so much better than me." She murmurs, so quietly that I almost didn't hear it. Almost. Rage flares up in me as I slap her. This time I _am _offended.

Of course I was better than her. In almost all the things that mattered. Could I handle weapons better? Yes. Could I actually fend for myself? Yes. Was I more attractive and better at deception? Of course. How dare she imply that I was anything like her. The only similarities we shared were that we were both orphans and that we had dedicated our entire lives for the day we won the Hunger Games. For the fame, the money, the constant attention from the best of the Capitol.

It was a competition, you see, between Xenia and I, although it was blatantly obvious that I could – and would – defeat her in a fight.

"Yes, I am better than you," I spit at her, "That's why you're on the floor meowing on about feelings. Who cares about that?"

"I do," She squirms about and I'm conscious of her every movement, "I'm allowed to care."

I roll my eyes at this, "Fine, be an idiot and care then. I'll guess it'll pay off when you're crowned victor alongside me. Just don't expect me to feel the same way because I don't." Lies, lies, lies. But it'll pay off when I've guaranteed her safety. Then she'll see.

"Don't worry, I won't." She's gone back to her fierce side and I let her get up. Looking at me, she sighs in despair, "Well now that you've cleared that up, I guess now we get to see the competition in real life." Dejected, and not trying to hide it, she walks over to the flimsy top she wanted to wear so much and goes over to the bathroom with it. I can tell she's muttering something under her breath but I can't hear any of it. I doubt it's anything complimentary about me though.

When she's gone, I roll my eyes at her use of the word 'competition'. As if any of those scrawny kids from the lower Districts could ever hope to kill me. Even the other Careers didn't stand a chance. Except maybe the guy from Four, he looked like a threat. The tributes from One looked way too pampered to be of much use and the girl from Four had appeared to be insane. Nobody would have volunteered for her since District Four hadn't had a victor in years. Even District Nine had more victors than they did. I wonder if they were trying to train their children in case a child was reaped.

Obviously District Two had the most victors, having the most suited tributes and everything. We had the best training, the best upbringing for the Hunger Games and as a result, we were the most adored by the Capitol citizens. However I didn't want to be 'adored', I wanted to be feared. Oh well, as soon as I get into the Hunger Games then they'll stop thinking that I was some 'cute, lovable boy' that could be messed with. Although I think people back in District Two didn't have this impression of me anyway.

Did they fear the other tributes? Not many of them had looked particularly threatening apart from the guy from Six and the Four boy. That made a change from the usual weaklings who walked up to the stage with a coy smile on their faces while trembling.

District Four were getting sloppy, I thought. Everyone knew that District Two were the ones to fear. Well, I was anyway. Nobody was going to take Xenia seriously if she kept dressing up in such impractical clothes. Mind you though, she was definitely easy on the eye when she wore them. Actually, she was still hot even when wearing her training suit. I would know, having trained her personally myself for a few years. This gave myself a massive advantage over her, knowing almost every move she would make before she actually did. Only thing was that she knew a few of my moves too. She would be the only tribute to know that though and once I had her pinned to the ground she would be screwed.

Not like we should be fighting. I bet that the 'two tributes can live' rule was still in place. Well it had been for five years and I didn't see why this year would be any different. Despite this, no two tributes had won any one Games yet. My mind quickly ran though the Games since the rule had been in place. The first Games with the rule, aka the 74th. Those stupid love-birds from District Twelve (yes, District Twelve, the place where the people starve to death together) had almost won that year. They were probably the reason that rule existed in the first place. Luckily the tribute from my District had basically eliminated both of them. Then he and the Eleven guy simultaneously kill each other and made the wimpy girl from Five win. The 75th had been the 3rd Annual Quarter Quell where only the victors were reaped. There had only been twenty-three tributes as District 12 only had one victor. Well they had none now as the crazy woman from Three, Wiress Cardin, had won. Although the only reason she had was because of the brutal fight between the Careers, Johanna, Chaff and Finnick that had resulted in all their deaths. Since Wiress had arrived too late from hunting for food, she missed most of it but finished off the injured Enobaria and Chaff to then be crowned victor. Despite the fact that she was a hopeless cheat, the Capitol citizens adored her and she now held a lot of power in Panem. Considering she had won the Hunger Games twice, I guess the woman deserved it. Sort of. If I won the Hunger Games, I would get to meet her. Actually, I would get to see her beforehand as she was the interviewer for the Hunger Games. A special privilege.

What made that so annoying was the fact that Wiress didn't even have to mentor anymore. The 76th Hunger Games had been won by District Three.

Again.

The girl tribute from Three – Zayna or something – had cheated like her mentor did and had pitted the Careers against another alliance, watching as six tributes were killed. Then as the four remaining Careers rested, she had cheated again and used throwing knives. I had stared in disbelief as three of the most powerful tributes were killed one by one by a mere fifteen-year old from the technology District.

Unfortunately for her she had run out of throwing knives and then had to deal with a furious tribute from One. However she proved that she had some skills and had stabbed the Career in the neck. The cannon had fired and District Three made history by being the first District to have tributes win two Games in a row. Even District Two hadn't managed that yet. Now they were in the spotlight of the Capitol's adoration and rumour had it that they wanted to stay there. As in, District Three were starting to train their children so that we couldn't kill them off so easily. If they were true, then the Capitol were probably not going to do anything about that. It meant better entertainment. It also made for smarter, stronger and therefore more annoying tributes.

Since they hadn't won since, I guess she was mentoring the girl tribute this year. Better watch out for any sneaky tricks that she might try to pull. The 77th victor, Daniel Thayne from District Two, had won the Games the old-fashioned way – join Careers, kill tributes quickly and turn on Careers in final eight. That kind of thing. District Two could have won last year's Games as well but then the District Nine girl had killed him and won instead. If he had been less skilled with a sword, he would have been killed earlier. Even I had to admit that he was completely crazy, decapitating the Careers at the Bloodbath before going around slaughtering the rest of the tributes and cutting them up.

On the other hand, I was going to win the Games with far more subtlety than he had. Everybody knew that having another four or five tributes backing you up meant that no other District tribute could even dream of killing you. Not like they could have done anyway but when backed up with more highly-trained and skilled tributes, it was practically a done deal that you would get into the final eight, especially if you were leading the Career pack. Nobody would think that they could defeat me in a fight when I was leader, when I was controlling what went on in the alliance. Why? Because they would all learn to fear me, just like Xenia does now and always will do. And once they did, once I could control the lives of at least a quarter of the competition, the rest of the Hunger Games should proceed smoothly. Although not all of the tributes from One and Four were up to the standards that we District Two tributes set for everybody to marvel at.

One such tribute would be the District Four girl. Annabel. She looked useless, since she was insane and all. The Peace-keepers had to literally drag her on stage and she had been rambling on uselessly then. However, I'm pretty sure that her District partner had volunteered to protect her, judging by the concerned glances he had kept sending her.

Well now I thought about it, little miss Annabel would make handy blackmailing material for District Four. Her partner wouldn't be so willing to take me on if I threatened to hurt her. And I would do. Presuming the One tributes could fight, it looked like I had a full Career pack. That would help.

Now for the non-Careers. I could just recruit as many as I could then kill them at the Cornucopia instead of having to hunt them down. Saves a lot of effort. I wasn't completely sure that any tribute would be stupid enough to fall for that though. A few disposable allies would be handy, however. Well, _more_ disposable allies. It wasn't like I could keep the rest of the Careers alive and even if I could – which I can't – I wouldn't devote all of my effort to doing so. They were only there to help me and if any one of them slowed me down, they wouldn't be holding me up for long. There must be some threats from the outlying districts, however. Well I damn well hoped so or these Games would be easy. Too easy.

District Three, Seven and Nine pop into mind when I think about it. I wouldn't mind having the girl from Nine as she wasn't bad looking. Although she looked a little young; I would be surprised if the Nine girl – Bailey or something – was any older than fifteen. Still cute though. District Seven would probably make their own alliance but the guy from District Three was a possibility. He looked strong and walked like he had been trained (training in District Three? That was definitely not the standard protocol for these weaklings. Most of them couldn't use a knife to save their life). Plus, it seemed he didn't get along too well with his cocky District partner. I clench my fists slightly: she was way too confident as she volunteered. Even District Seven weren't so cocky, although since they probably knew how to wield an axe they actually had a right to. Kind of.

Well they hadn't volunteered. What was District Three going to do anyway; blow us all up with bombs? You couldn't even get bombs at the Cornucopia and I've never seen anyone get bombs from their sponsors, although it might be on the sponsor list.

She didn't even volunteer for the weakling who I would have killed; the commentators had said that they hadn't known each other before the Reaping. Unless she thought she actually stood a chance or suddenly felt sorry for the twelve-year old girl. Again, I doubted that very much. Nobody had volunteered for the weak thirteen-year old girl that District Three had reaped last year. Nobody had offered to take her place when that thirteen-year old girl had been subject to a prolonged death by dissection. Well this year, it looked like somebody had.

Just for the wrong reasons.

My thoughts go back to the 76th Hunger Games and their cunning victor who would be mentoring the Three tributes this year and about how I thought the tributes may be receiving training. Both of them hadn't shuffled their feet or practically stomp their way over to the stage when they were called – or in the girl's case, volunteered. They walked lightly, not making much sound on the concrete as they moved. They also showed very few signs of fear. The boy had been glaring but the girl seemed completely fearless. Except for when the boy had been reaped. I had noticed the way her face had fallen, just for a second. She definitely had a past with that boy outside of the Hunger Games, wherever it was as neighbours, friends or the like. It didn't matter much; the only purpose it served me was providing me a weakness to exploit.

Well my point is made; if any tributes had been trained in District Three then I would pick the two that I would be killing this year. Despite what they would no doubt want me to think, they are not as weak and defenceless as they would like us to believe. Especially not the girl. No tribute volunteered unless they thought they had _some _chance.

Who cared why she did it though, the point stands that I was going to teach her a lesson about what happened when a District as pathetic as Three tried to act like their superiors. I smirked to myself, imagining her begging for mercy while I towered over her. She looked like a challenge too; only made the game that much more fun.

I was distracted from my thoughts as the ever-perky voice of our escort interrupted the peace and quiet of the train, "Oh Xenia, Felix." She cried out, "We'll be arriving at the Capitol in five minutes so I hope you're ready." She appeared just outside the door. I hadn't bothered to remember her name but I'm pretty sure it was her. How could you possibly forget the inhumanely high pitches of her voice at every Reaping for the past eight years? And the purple hair. If she wasn't such a idiot and a complete Capitolite, I might have found her attractive. Almost. Her eyes – which matched her hair – widened when she looked at me and I realised that my top wasn't buttoned anymore. Xenia must have unbuttoned it earlier. Not that I minded. My escort though seemed slightly on edge. She should be. After all, she was looking into the face of the future victor of the 79th Hunger Games. Quickly I put back on my top and followed her.

It's not an exaggeration when I say me and Xenia are almost blinded by the firework of cameras exploding when we step outside. I squint slightly before putting on a smile. It only widens when Xenia wraps her arm around me and like that, we walk down the red carpet to where me and the other tributes will be staying for the duration of the time here in the Capitol pre-Games. We occasionally stop, smile even more and wave while trying not to narrow our eyes too much. By the time we enter the building my mouth and arm muscles are aching from overuse.

The other tributes are arriving as well. All of the other tributes in my proposed alliance are here and Xenia makes her way towards them. All the while I'm checking out everyone else. District Five look slightly nervous as they eye the District Four boy while the District Eight girl is blabbing animatedly to her bored-looked counterpart. District Six are silent and studiously ignoring each other and both of the Three tributes were gesturing wildly and looking increasingly annoyed. Interested in any potential drama between District tributes, I inch closer.

"Idiot," The girl hissed as I walked into hearing distance, "Try doing _that _and you'll end up dead, don't you worry. Weren't you paying any attention to me earlier?"

"Well why shouldn't I?" The boy snarled back, "As if you could stop me."

"I damn well could."

"Oh really? I'd like to see you try." The District Three boy looked smug while the girl scowled.

"I'd like to see you try to stop me stopping you."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Sure it does."

"It really doesn't."

The girl sighed irritably, "To put it simply for idiots like – " She stopped when she realised I was watching, amused.

"Do continue," I casually drop into the conversation while smiling at the girl, "Don't let me stop you."

The girl smirked, an action that annoyed me as it showed she was trying to defy me. I exclaim her closely, seeing if there was a slight trembling in her hands or if her eyes were an inch too wide for feeling calm. None of those things described her, "Hi, I'm Beryl. Who the hell are you?" She asks in a overly-perky voice.

"Hi, I'm Felix and I'm going to be your killer soon." I reply in an equally bright voice, mocking her.

Instead of cowering like she should be doing, Beryl gives me a massive smile that I know is fake. I think that was her intention, for unknown reasons, "Ladies first," She chirps in an exaggerated Capitol accent. It faintly rings a bell and I realise that she sounds like her escort, "Don't you know that rule? I know it's District Two but they must teach some manners there." She giggles as I glare at her, "Oh wait, I sound just like my escort now. I guess she's rubbing off on me." She pretends to look horrified.

"I think you're onto something there. Your escort's lack of intelligence has definitely rubbed off onto you."

Now it's her turn to glare at me while the boy looks at me with some interest. He decides to speak up, "Any reason why you're here?" He inquires calmly.

"Not much," I reply neutrally, "Just wondering if you were interested in an alliance, that's all."

"You must be joking," The girl immediately spat, crossing her arms over her chest. Her fake perky persona is gone, replaced by hostility.

Who refused an offer to join the Career alliance, a collection of the best tributes available? "Excuse me?" I say for the second time today. I notice the boy tense at my words while his partner faced me directly.

"You heard me correctly, I think you're just a – " The rest of her reply was covered up by the boy inserting quickly, "You'll have to excuse Beryl, she's just a bit tired and nervous. I'll join your pack." He held out his hand for me to shake, "I'm Adrian, by the way."

I ignore the hand and he lowers it anyway, "I think I'll let you two get back to whatever you were talking about." I smirk at Adrian who remains unfazed, "Wouldn't want you to argue with your District partner about who you're allying with now, would we? Maybe you can convince her anyway." I turn away before he can respond but I can hear Beryl muttering under her breath about her joining my alliance 'over her dead body'. Well that could be arranged. And would.

On the plus side, she wasn't bad-looking. Not breathtakingly so but not bad to look at either. Especially when she was annoyed. Shame she turned down my offer; I could have had so much fun with her. I still might be able to, if Adrian manages to make her see logic – I was going to be nice and kill my allies quickly. Unless they annoyed me too much.

Xenia is tapping her foot in irritation when I get back over to her and a bunch of Capitolites which I presume is our prep teams.

"I managed to secure us a place in the Career alliance." She says, looking annoyed, "Thanks so much for joining me and looking like you're taking these Games seriously."

I glare at her, "I _am _taking these Games seriously, that's why every single tribute in this room's going to be nothing but a corpse within a week."

Her eyes widen and I remember the conversation we had back on the train, where she was being shoved into the carpet by yours truly, "Every single one?" She stutters slightly.

I smirk at her, "Well not you, obviously. You are my District partner after all. So you'll be perfectly safe, provided you don't inconvenience me too much."

"So you think you're going to win then, huh?"

If she has to ask this, then she is doubting my drive to win. Another thing that you don't do, "Of course I do. I hope you're not thinking otherwise."

Her eyes flicker to somewhere guiltily. Or someone. I don't bother following wherever her gaze is fixed, "I bet every tribute from District Two thinks that," Her voice breaks just the tiniest bit, "But we don't win every year."

"Well that's not going to happen this year. Have you seen the others?" I laugh confidently.

"Of course I have," She frowns at me, "Stop being flippant. We could be dead soon and you're laughing about it?"

"Darling, everyone dies eventually. If I'm killed while doing what I like to do then that's fine by me. Mind you, I'm not planning on dying any time soon so you don't have to worry your little self about that." I ruffle her hair, making sure that I pull my hand away a little too viciously. Xenia groans in pain and irritation at the fact I've ruined her hair as some of her hair is caught in my fingers. I smirk at her while she gives me a glare. Continuing to make eye contact with her until she looks away nervously, I smile.

"Yeah, I wasn't." She mutters while trying to get her hair in some kind of order. I consider messing Xenia's hair up again but decide against it. Then her eyes light up briefly with something that isn't happy as she adds, "Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, the Four tributes aren't joining us."

My good mood is ruined, "What?" I spare a glance at the Four tributes who are staring back at us blankly.

Xenia spares one irritated glance at the so-called Careers from Four, "Well neither of the other Careers wanted the Four girl to join and then Falcon – who's that really cute guy from Four – refused to join because of that. Then they all had this massive argument where Falcon punched the One boy after he insulted Four girl too much so now the Four tributes are not part of the Careers this year. I'm guessing that the Career pack is down to four." This was all said in one breath and Xenia takes a break for air after that.

"Make that five," I reply, "The Three boy is joining us."

Xenia smiles at this, "Oh good, another cute guy in our team." She claps like she's an idiot. Which she can be, sometimes.

I roll my eyes, "You and your weakness for guys."

"What? It's not my fault they're so attractive. You're definitely included on my list though." She giggles then seems to sober up as she continues, "Too bad all the guys in here are going to be dead soon."

"And you're left with me." I give her a dashing smile but her mood seems off and I'm sure that her mind isn't thinking of cute guys anymore.

Her eyes focus on me but not for long, "That'll be nice," She mumbles vaguely, "Oh well, I'm just nervous, I guess. Are the Capitol going to sponsor us or someone more interesting? You did say that I'm just a Career. Plenty of them around." Her eyes flicker to me, judging my reaction to see if I'm going to react.

"I don't see why you're worrying," I make an effort to keep my voice calm so Xenia doesn't go jumping around in fear of me everywhere. Much as that is funny to witness, it does have its downsides. Especially when you just wanted to have a conversation, "They like Careers, don't they? Being a Career beats being some weak child. And if you want us to be especially interesting, then we'll be interesting. After all, who would want to miss out on this"? I quickly kiss her hard on her lips to prove my point before moving backwards, noticing the sudden increase in the squealing sounds the Capitol citizens watching us were making. It's not like I could blame them – a romance between two cold-hearted Careers from Two? The Capitol would be begging for more.

She looks unhappily at me but before she can respond our escort calls us though so we can face our stylists. Adding my trademark smirk to my face, I stroll forwards, not looking forwards to several hours of styling, talks about fashion and Capitol voices assaulting my ears.

Fun times.

"Just look at those arms. Perfection, don't you think?"

"You must be joking. That chest is obviously the definition of perfect."

"I just wish I could say the same for his hair."

I really wanted to punch my stylists. Their voices, their looks, their personalities, everything about them just made me wish that they were going into the arena with me, just so that I could rid the world of these three – for lack of a better word - _things_. And they were surrounding my naked body with some tweezers and other beautifying instruments that I can't even name. If they were hot, scantily-clad girls then it wouldn't be so bad (actually it would be pretty awesome). But no, my stylists are freakish-looking women who are probably fifty or sixty but have frozen faces in an attempt to look younger. It's really not cool that they're staring at me in a suggestive manner but there isn't anything I can really do about it. My mentor had even ordered me to not complain.

"Just let them do their jobs and don't say anything, okay?" He – the victor of the 77th Hunger Games, Daniel Thayne – had said when I had got on the train. I had scowled at the time at not being able to do anything but had said nothing.

I hated people trying to order me around. Ordering others around was supposed to be my job. Unfortunately I was now in the Capitol and I was stuck having to jump around trying to please a bunch of idiots. When the hell would they actually give me a sword and let me get started? Who cares how a tribute acted? Was I supposed to hold back just because one of my victims has some stupid sob story about their little sister or whatever? Because I wasn't going to. It wasn't my fault they were reaped so why should I care about their life? It didn't benefit me in the slightest and I just did not care.

I didn't care if they thought that I was throwing away my life for 'trivial' things like fame and money. They were the only things I could aspire for right now and seemed more appealing than putting up with a girl 24/7 or dealing with some whiny kids. To some parent back in District Two, that was all I was, it seemed. A whiny little child.

_I was six years old, but I was small for my age. Many people mistook me for a toddler. I had made up for it now, however, which was what mattered at my age. How many people take someone seriously when the person trying to intimidate you has to crane their neck to make eye contact with you? Not very many, let me tell you that. At my age, it didn't really matter to me. Not back then. All I was trying to do was hold the weapon correctly, but I didn't know that it was a weapon at that time. I hadn't really known when I was ever going to use this either. I hadn't seen anyone around town carry around a club with spikes embedded into it but my family said it would benefit me one day. The only time I had seen one of the 'spiky club thingys' used was on TV. I thought 'Maybe they want me to be on TV'. But when I had asked, they had denied it. Maybe it was supposed to be a surprise and I ruined it. Oops, maybe if I pretended to forget about it then they would reconsider. _

"_Felix, you're gripping the mace too tightly. If you hold it with a more relaxed grip, you can swing it around better," My sister chastised, picking up the other spiky club thing – I mean mace – and holding out her hand so I could see how she was holding it. I had then tried to relax my grip but dropped it when the mace started to slip out of my hand. Startled, I took a couple of steps backwards. One of those spikes could have hit me. My sister made an irritated sound and tapped her foot while I kicked the mace in a bout of childish frustration. Being an idiot, however, I kicked my foot against the end of the mace with the spikes and they cut though my skin. _

_A throbbing feeling entered though my feet and started to send waves of pain though the whole of my leg, numbing me to anything else but the pain. I tried to make it go away but it wouldn't stop. Tears were welling in my eyes. It hurt so much. Why had I kicked the mace? Why? _

_It was my parents' fault, I had thought, they were the ones making me do this. And they wouldn't even tell me why._

_I collapsed to the floor while clutching my foot in pain, moaning all the while. My sister had scowled at me like I was the biggest inconvenience in her life and then offered me a hand to help me get up. I was surprised by her gesture since she would usually laugh at me before proceeding to kick me until I got up. I accepted the hand but as soon as I was standing, my foot started to hurt too much again. I whimpered, something which I would never do nowadays, and started to fall over again. However my sister caught me before dragging me to the couch that was nearby. _

"_Come on," She whined at me, prodding me with a finger until I swat it away, "Mum says that if you learn how to hold that properly, we can have ice cream." She sounds excited at the last part._

_Oh, that explained why she was so willing to help me. Alana – my sister – adored ice cream. My sister, Alana Elaine Wilds, had absolutely loved it back then, although wherever her avid taste of ice cream had lasted into adulthood I wouldn't know._

"_Don't want ice cream," I muttered sullenly, "Not hungry."_

"_Well don't ruin the opportunity for me," She had pouted at me, "Mum doesn't give out ice cream everyday."_

_I had whined, but Alana had made me learn how to hold a mace regardless. Ice cream was to her what winning was to me. Then I had to show Mum without whining about my foot. Well Alana had said I was whining. I thought that my complaints had legitimate grounds; my foot could get infected. I should know, my Mum had said that was what happened when you got injured._

_Mum had a lot of injuries, if her scars weren't any indicator of that fact. Apart from those scars that marred her skin, she looked a lot like me and Alana. Same thick, reddish-brown hair that brushed her shoulders. At the time, mine was a bush of cow-licks while Alana's hair was in a professional-looking pixie cut. We shared the same tanned skin, although mine was baby-soft compared to Alana's clapped and dry skin and the labyrinth of scars that my Mum possessed. My Mum's eyes were the same golden-green colour as mine. Apparently it ran in the family genes. In any case, we definitely stood out amongst the typical District Two family._

_It was that same afternoon when we were all eating bowls of ice cream and cookies in this unusual District Two family that my life changed. Mum had gone upstairs to answer the telephone and Alana was shouting at her. I couldn't hear what my Mum's responses were but somehow Alana was able to hear every word. I wasn't really listening, too busy enjoying the chocolate chips in my cookie. Alana's next question catches my attention._

"_I don't want to," She shouted petulantly, "It's nice and safe here. You said so so it must be. Why do we have to move?"_

_My Mum must have said something back but I can only hear a muted shout in response to Alana. She probably wanted me and Alana moved from the kitchen and back into the living room. That was the only definition of 'move' I knew of back then._

"_Mum," Alana whined, "You haven't explained. Why can't me and Felix stay here? It's cold outside and I haven't got my gloves on." _

_We were going outside? I thought. Since when was this happening? No one had said I was this morning. Although this morning had been horrible and rainy. It was still cold outside but not in any way that a coat wouldn't help you. Alana shouldn't be complaining anyway, she was eating ice cream as she spoke._

_Well I didn't care if it wasn't freezing cold, I wasn't going and that was that. I had gone out yesterday to the dinky old museum and that had been boring. No way were we going to do that again._

_Apparently my mother wasn't kidding around as she finally enters the kitchen, looking exceedingly worried as her head kept darting around the room, as if fearing an attack. In the distance, you could hear the banging on the front door, accompanied by shouting. The look in my Mum's eyes only gets more desperate as she chucks a pair of black gloves to Alana. Confusion, that's all I can feel right now. What's happening? Were we in trouble? It had just dawned on me that this was something serious and I didn't want to see it. Alana seemed to know this too, if the fear etched onto her features gave away any clues._

"_Alana, just put on your gloves and get as far away from this house as possible. Don't come back here, okay?" My sister seems to know more about what was going on than I did._

"_What's going on?" I demand. My family ignore me as Alana walks over and picks me up. She doesn't seem to be struggling even though she's only a few years younger than me. I was impressed, even then. My mother doesn't pay any attention to Alana's feat as she shoves my sister – and because my sister is carrying me, myself as well – out of the back door. She leans over and kisses both me and Alana on the forehead, "I love you both, okay? Please don't forget that." Me and Alana just nod, Alana actually being quiet and just looking solemn instead. I have no idea what I looked like (well how would I?) but I still didn't have a clue what was going on. Alana then runs clumsily into the garden and veers off sharply to the left, keeping to the bushes, her footsteps echoing against the frozen ground._

_Thud thud thud thud._

"_Where are we going?" I ask, trying not to shiver too much. My jumper wasn't very effective against the coming autumn._

_My sister seems to be completely unaffected by the weather, "Shut up, Felix, nobody's supposed to know we're here."_

"_Why? Are we playing hide-and-seek?" My voice rose in pitch as anticipation seeped in. It quickly goes away when I remember the panic in my Mum's actions. It seemed too extreme for hide-and-seek, although that could be her taking the game too seriously. Mums always took things too seriously._

_Alana growls in irritation, probably at my innocence which I recognise now. At the time, however, I thought she was being more hostile than was necessary, "No," She whispers tightly, "We're not playing hide-and-seek." She practically spits out the last three words, showing her scorn at playing anything so childish and wasteful._

_I completely miss out what she's implying, "Oh, so are we playing a – " I stop talking when she drops me onto the ground. And so I lay there, stunned from the fall, while my older sister is glaring down at me, eyes blazing._

_She gave my back a vicious kick, "Shut up,"I opened my mouth but her eyes threatened to bore holes into me if I spoke so I didn't say anything, "You don't know everything and neither do I but Mum put me in charge so you'll listen to me. Get it?"_

"_You don't know everything either." I objected._

"_Yeah? Well I know more than you do," She sighed at my dumb expression, "To put it into baby words, you listen to me or else you will end up in a lot of trouble. Don't listen to me and I can't help you, okay likkle baby?"_

_I frowned at this, "I'm not three." I complained._

"_Well you look like a three-year old." _

_This was just one of the many times she had made reference to my height before. I clench my fists angrily, "Shut up!"_

_Her face splits into a scary blue-lipped grin and she grips my shoulders tightly and shakes me. Her voice changes so that it's even higher-pitched than Alana would usually talk and her hair suddenly melts into a waterfall of blue as she shrieks out, "Felix, pay attention. Your amazing stylist is here."_

Evidently, I had zoned out for a few minutes too long and I'm staring directly into the swimming-pool blue eyes of one of my weird prep team, River I think her name is. Well her outfit certainly suggests so. Wavy hair so long it reaches her hips that's dyed turquoise blue with the weird eyes. Her skin is a blue-grey with tattoos that resemble waves and along her arms there were actually pebbles _in her skin._ The thought of implanting something under my skin was not a pleasant one. She was looking at me in disapproval and I quickly say, "That's great. I can't wait to see my chariot outfit." With the appropriate amount of enthusiasm, of course.

My stylist, who looked almost exactly like a Roman marble statue – complete with a toga and crown of leaves, beamed at me, "Now close your eyes and you'll look fabulous in no time." When I did, they put me into something that was ridiculously heavy for clothes. It was also cold to touch and had a smooth texture, as well as feeling bulky and restricting my movements a lot. I had a pretty good idea of what it could be and when they gave me a sword, it became immediately obvious.

And I totally approved.

From head to toe, I was donning a suit of shining, silver-grey armour that fitted me perfectly. Making me look tough and strong and somebody that you did not want to meet in the arena. Although I held a sword, it had been blunted so unless I whacked someone over the head with it hard, it wasn't going to do much damage. Someone obviously didn't trust me with a actual weapon quite yet. The helmet had enough metal cut off so you could see my eyes but that was about it. Oh well, they'll recognise me better once I'm actually bringing a good portion of the entertainment in the arena. Not like I was doing it for the Capitol, oh no.

I was doing it because it was fun.

I should know.

It's not like I haven't killed before. I bet nobody else has, automatically granting me yet another advantage over the weaklings that were my competition. While they all freeze up and cry over whoever they kill, I'll be laughing. Singing, if I actually cared for that sort of thing. And while everyone is busy mourning over it, I'll just come along and put them out of their misery. For good.

Only a few more days to go before the carnage all starts.

And I'll be orchestrating it.

* * *

**If anybody is reading this, it would be much appreciated if you reviewed (you know, just if there's any mistakes I've made with spelling/ grammar and if you think the story is good so far).**


	6. Chariot Rides

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games**

Chapter Five

**_Beryl Streep, _**

**_District Three,_**

Well, it looks like _some _Districts are playing up to the medieval theme. And it ain't us District Three tributes, not at all. District One are dressed up as king and queen, looking down at us mere subjects. Royal red robes and gleaming gold sceptres adorned with hundred of little rubies. Gleaming like berries on a plate.

The girl is leaning on the shoulder of the boy, her hair recently dyed a tarnished gold glinting under the spotlights. Matching the chariot which is also covered in gems and the golden horses. Gold freaking _everywhere_ over there. I bet there's enough of the stuff to feed District Three for two weeks. As in, the gold was enough to pay for enough food to feed District Three, not that we actually ate gold because that would be weird. Gold didn't taste very nice anyway, at least I don't think it would taste nice, I've never tried it. District Two are dressed up as knights, complete with a sword for Felix and a spear for the girl. Did everyone have some kind of prop this year? Felix is flirting with the girl from his District who looks more than happy to receive the attention.

Ew.

She's also dressed up in a similar theme to Felix but her outfit is made of some dark brown material that isn't metal. Leather, maybe? It shows a lot more of her body than Felix's impenetrable suit of armour – hot pants, a crop top and some kick-ass boots made of the leather stuff that makes her look like a warrior queen from a legend. She has a spear as her prop and together, those two would get a lot of sponsors.

I would actually prefer their outfits over ours. At least they will get the crowd's attention. Who's ever going to notice Adrian's ninja-like jumpsuit and my sparkly silver dress that's creased everywhere? And reveals even more skin than Xenia's clothes. I mean it, being naked would be preferable to this stupid bikini. How my outfit relates to District Three I have no idea and when I had asked my stylists' they hadn't exactly been very helpful. Complete with insanely high (and sparkly blue) high-heels, I look trashy and pathetic. Let's not forget the sparkly eye-shadow. I hate things that sparkle excessively. Gives me a headache. Sparks from a machine, that's fine. Jewels and make-up? No way.

This was the part of the Games I hated the most. Having to please the idiotic Capitolites. And trust me, they were idiots. Seriously, what self-absorbed airhead rates a tribute based on what clothes they were wearing? What was this, a dress competition?

Well the Capitolites did, obviously.

But seriously, the whole damn process of the chariot rides was utterly pointless. At least the interviews held some scraps of who the tribute was. Even if they were lying, you still had some clues of how they would act in the arena or if they were playing the weakling card. The chariot rides, however, was only there to show how they fattened us up before being slaughtered but hell, we already knew that. So the whole purpose of the rides was defeated. I guess it gave entertainment to the Capitolites but aside from that it was a waste of time. Just kids dressing up in clothes we would never be able to afford back home. I bet the threads that made up my (ridiculously skimpy) dress was worth more than the abandoned flat I usually slept in. You see, when it was possible for me and Adrian to evade the Peace-keepers to get to a flat, we would temporarily settle down in any abandoned flats that we could find. There were quite a few of them around District Threeand by the time the Peace-keepers came running, we would have moved on. Our current sleeping quarters was a house scheduled for demolition in a few months, since it was a unused and derelict thing, with graffiti on the outside, paint peeling from the walls inside and the furniture covered with dust and cobwebs. Needless to say, it wasn't the warmest location but at least the rain didn't soak us. The dress that I was wearing now though wouldn't have helped warm me back in that house at all.

Apparently our outfits were going to 'blow the crowd away'. Yeah, sure. Couldn't our stylists' at least have fitted our outfits in with looking like something from a legend? Looking like a prostitute was so not going to make me memorable. Adrian appears to appreciate the outfit though. Typical guys. Which means unwanted attention from the guy department will be attracted to me when I'm out there. Great.

Meanwhile over at District Four, their stylists' were still sticking to their fishing theme. The guy – who is literally double my size – is only wearing a piece of cloth around 'that area' that is strategically knotted so he's not showing everything. Nothing particularly special, except for the fact that he's holding a massive trident in one hand. His chariot is basically a massive clam shell which the girl is already waiting in. Her hair – which was already pretty long to begin with – has extensions so that it wraps all around her body. It stands out against her dress which looks like she is literally wearing water, except it's a little less see-though. Stones that look like teardrops are dotted around her dress. It's definitely original in comparison.

On the plus side, District Five don't fit in with the theme either. Maybe it was just a Career thing, unless I'm missing something when they are dressed up in paper outfits. Scientific equations are written all over them and they look less than amused with this. I can't quite see the other tributes from here but a few of the chariots look unusually extravagant.

A slight breeze rustles though the waiting area and I quickly put my hands over my dress so it doesn't flutter upwards. Trust me, if there's a stronger breeze than that, everyone will see _everything. _

I'm thinking about how I might as well pull some fake poses that I've seen Capitolites do in my stupid outfit for the audience, but then I reconsider. The Capitolites wouldn't know that I was making fun of them and then I'll be branded as 'adorable' and a 'crowd-pleaser', which I didn't want. Although I doubted anyone would call me adorable in this stupid dress.

Before my hands touch my dress, another pair of hands beat me to it and they turn me around so I can look into the eyes of one of my favourite tributes, Felix. Please note the sarcasm there.

He leers at my dress or rather, what the dress was covering, "Looking good there."

I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the fact that his hands were by my waist, "Unlike you. That's probably why they put you in that." I gesture to his suit of armour, where you couldn't see any of his physique. I mean honestly, that great piece of metal was hiding all his 'amazing' body. Although that was probably a good thing in terms of sponsors for me. Looking intimidating was a good alternative though. Well the Careers always did well, it seemed to be a required rule in the Games.

He raises his sword slightly with one hand and places the tip of the sword to my neck. I try not to tense too visibly, not wanting to let him know that I was feeling the slightest bit nervous. I bet he was thinking of ways that my head would be bashed in with that.

He only smirks though, "At least I'm representing my District with this. And I look dashing as well." He shoots me with what I think is intended to be a charming smile while posing slightly. How he manages to pose while holding a sword to my neck is not something I know, "District Three isn't exactly well-known for having attractive woman about, although you're definitely an exception." Ugh, I hate people who tried to flatter me by complimenting my appearance, although this didn't happen too often as I was quite average in terms of looks. With my curly mahogany brown hair that brushed my shoulders, slightly tanned skin and plain brown eyes, I wasn't anybody who received second glances from people walking by on a street. The fact that my blunt jaw seemed to be permanently set in a clenched position from glowering didn't really help. Neither did my height. It did make me look – at best – a cute, adorable child. So people calling me cute was slightly understandable, but still very annoying. Attractive, however? Yeah right.

I glower at him, thinking that he's mocking my ridiculous outfit. As soon as he gets back to his Career buddies, I'll bet my last coin that he'll be laughing about how I look with his allies.

Mocking me or not, it didn't really make much difference as Felix was still holding onto my hips with one hand and he used this to pull me in closer. I just pursed my lips and tried to pull back. Note the word tried. He wasn't exactly letting me go and I was definitely weaker than he was. Which figured but still sucked. "You can let go now." I try and say assertively but when he was still kind of hugging, kind of checking me out a few seconds later, completely disregarding my instructions, I punch him.

Well, tried to as my fist wasn't quite small enough to fit in between the stupid helmet that he was wearing, but I did manage to hit him. Also, it still distracted him enough that I could wriggles free from his arms while he tried to stop his helmet rattling. My hand was going to kill from doing that – have you ever tried to punch a suit of metal? It's like punching a wall. Another downside is that it would be hell on my new manicure that my prep team had given me. Well it wasn't optional and did absolutely nothing for me but I still didn't want to ruin it. Chipping my nail polish wouldn't look so great. If you could even see the state of my nails from where the crowd would sit, which you probably couldn't. Well anyway, I didn't want to mess it up, my prep team hated me enough as they do already without me publicly tarnishing their efforts. Quickly, I took – or in my high-heels, tottered – a couple of steps back, presuming that Felix would not be amused at the fact that I had tried to punch him.

I would – unfortunately – be correct. With the fact that Felix was annoyed _and_ that I had injured my hand. I might not be able to see the rest of his face but his eyes looked furious, which was enough warning for me. A sword flew though the space I had occupied just moments earlier as he swung it downwards. He had put a bit too much force into the swing and while he was distracted, I took off my high-heels. Might not be this girl's best friend but they make convenient weapons if need be. Impressive-looking and intimidating, however? They were not.

He just looked at me scornfully, "Am I supposed to be scared of some stupid little girl with high-heels?" He snorted while towering over me, as people who are taller and wear replicas of medieval armour have a tendency to do, "You couldn't touch me even if you had this." He raises his sword again, which I swore would have made a better club. Oh well, the Capitol citizens wouldn't know the difference if it hit them over their heads.

_Challenge accepted, Felix._

I reach out and poke him in the eye several times (with my sparkly, seemingly pointless high heels, not with my fingers), grinning when he scrunches up his eyes and waves his hand around trying to get my hand holding the high heel out of his face, "You were saying?" I reply cheekily, trying to stop laughing and failing miserably.

"That wasn't what I meant and you knew it." He growled, trying to grab my hand and missing by a few inches.

"Oh really?" I ask with faux-innocence, "But you forget, I'm just a stupid little girl with high-heels." That was said in a _almost _perfect impression of Felix's voice. I didn't want him to know just how good I was at mimicry just yet, "I don't know anything, do I?" I bat my eyelashes in a non-flirtatious manner and hope that he doesn't think I'm hitting on him or something.

Lowering his sword, he inspects me with a slight frown on his face, "Don't play that game with me, little girl."

"Or what?" I know it's a stupid question as soon as I say it. He'll hunt me down and kill me in the arena, of course. If he didn't think I was worth bothering about before, he definitely will do now. I doubt Felix will make it quick either. He doesn't exactly strike me as the type who lets things slide easily. If the fact that he tried to slice me in half with his prop sword wasn't any indicator of this then I didn't know what was.

A sly little smile makes its way onto his face, "You'll see." He slides a hand down my hip and plays with the hem of my dress before retreating, that annoying smile still lurking on his face all the while. When he leaves, I turn to my District partner, wondering why he would let Felix walk by here without saying anything.

Except that he's nowhere to be found.

I look around before I see him chatting with Xenia. What the hell is he doing talking to her? Xenia smiles and moves slightly closer to him and then laughs at something he says. Felix decides to arrive at that precise point in their conversation and glares at Adrian. He snarls something at him and Adrian backs away, hands raised slightly. Xenia tries to say something to calm Felix down and he turns on her, grabbing her by the shoulders and slamming her into the District Two chariot. He does not look happy and I feel the slightest pang of pity for her. Imagine having Felix for a District partner. Then I mentally pinch myself, reminding me that Xenia is also from District Two and was probably as psychotic as her District partner was. How did I know that Felix was psychotic? Well firstly, almost all tributes from Two were psychotic. Secondly, what person hits on the person they'll be trying to kill in a few days unless they were playing some sort of sick game with that tribute's mind? Unless they wanted an ally, which I'm pretty sure Felix doesn't (well not after I rejected him once). Thirdly, he's definitely not a nice person. He tried to attack me with his sword, as I've already mentioned earlier. I might have dodged and the sword wasn't particularly threatening but he intended it to hurt, which is the point.

Adrian quietly makes his way over to me and I glare. "Thanks for not doing anything." I snap, "Too busy getting all cosy with _her_?" I jerk my head towards Xenia.

Adrian wasn't paying me any attention, busy looking at Xenia. I'm surprised at how annoyed I am at this. Why should he care about her? But my words make him look at me. His eyes narrow, "She's my ally – why shouldn't I talk to her? In case you didn't get the message, I'm a Career now. You hate them, remember?"

"That doesn't mean I hate you." I point out, reaching out with one hand to pat him reassuringly on the shoulder but he just shrugs it off and looks irritated.

"Too late," He practically snarls at me while I flinch slightly. I didn't like seeing him angry but it seemed to be happening more and more often these days. He notices this and makes an effort to calm down. More quietly, he adds, "You're never going to get into the Career alliance now. I don't know what Felix did or said to you or how you responded but you've pissed him off for real this time. Smart move there, little berry, he's the leader. I can't help you."

"I don't need your help," I shout, my voice several times louder than it was previously, then realise everyone else probably heard those five words. When the tributes have stopped looking at us interestedly, I continue, "So what if he's leader, it doesn't mean that he can do whatever he wants. Flirting with me is included in that."

He just sighs in irritation, probably at my so-called stubbornness but doesn't pursue the topic any further, "We're getting on soon, you might want to put those heels back on." On that note, he ends the conversation and I try and fit my feet into those precarious heels. Makeshift weapons are the only thing they're good for and they barely manage to do that. Wearing the accursed things? I couldn't wait. No really, I was barely holding back the excited squealing and jumping around, not like I could actually jump around in the high-heels anyway.

A pompously loud voice interrupts my sarcastic thoughts, "Attention tributes, the first chariot will now proceed to enter the City Circle. Please make your way over to the chariots and prepare for the opening show. Thank you and happy Hunger Games."

Prepare for hell, more like.

I had just managed to get my balance and stay standing on my skyscraper heels when our chariot starts wobbling around. I can see the horses – which look like robots – trotting steadily towards the City Circle as me and Adrian prepare for the crowds' first glimpse at the trained tributes from Three. Well, they don't know about the training yet and I aim to keep it that way. The less they know, the better. For now.

My crazy stylist is making frantic motions with his hands which would look pretty awkward in any other situation, "What's he trying to say?" I ask quietly.

Adrian furrows his eyebrows in concentration, "I think he's telling us to hold hands."

I just shrug casually, which I can put off in my outfit and we link hands together. Then my stylist links his two hands together and raises them over his head and we comply. My arm is going to be killing me by the time we reach the centre. Then I can see no more of him as a sudden burst of light erupts from our outfits, spiralling into the air and exploding like fireworks. The crowd is nothing but a silhouette against blue-white ribbons of light that surround us. Meanwhile, my dress has transformed into patches of colour that reminds me of static electricity on a broken TV. You could probably see my shadow against the blinding white but not make out the details. It was actually quite cool. I grin in exhilaration; this was way more fun than most tributes from my District make it out to be. The rhythmic pounding of the music, the crowd cheering us on, the excited atmosphere. It rubs off onto me and I don't have to fake the grin that lightens up my face. Although to be fair, none of the other District Three tributes had ever had such amazing outfits as me and Adrian do. Or stage effects anyway. So I just settle into the roaring of the crowd, cheering our names when they have bothered to memorise our names and just cheers of "District Three, District Three," when they hadn't.

"Adrian, Beryllium, Adrian, Beryllium,"

Oh great, I think, they know my first name. My _full _first name. Tributes mocking me about this will definitely occur now. On the plus side, nobody's going to forget the girl named Beryllium. Me: 1, my mum (whoever that is): 0. I wonder if she even knows I'm here...

Without any warning, the electric fireworks from our suits explode and then stop erupting, leaving us blinking rapidly so our eyes don't water. It wouldn't help my new-found reputation if my mascara started running down my face. Then I realised that I was worrying about make-up. The Capitol really were changing me. Not a good thing.

A few sparks still exploded around us from time to time, making sure that everybody could see us, making sure that none of the other chariots stole the show from us. I look up at the screens and see me and Adrian standing together. Powerful, strong, formidable.

Together, we were invincible. We would not go down in the Hunger Games without a fight and we didn't need the Capitol's favour to achieve that.

Stuff the sparkly outfits the Careers were wearing, our outfits had created so much more chaos. In a good way. The screaming crowds, the attention, the inevitable queues of sponsors that would soon be lining up for us. I mentally take back my earlier complaints, this would surely help me in the arena although in the past, most of the sponsors had headed straight for the Careers so I can see why my District would hate this part of the Games.

Now I can see, I realise that I'm being pelted with bouquets of flowers. Velvety red roses, dainty-looking lilies the colour of cream, the subtle beauty of fuchsias, all sorts of flowers were falling at my feet.

I felt like a goddess of nature, being worshipped. I'll be the first to admit that it felt awesome.

Adrian picks up a rose and attaches it to his lapel. Now he looks like a gentleman, which he can be when he wants to. And he's more courteous than some people were. Well, he was most of the time until you angered him. But really, who's going to remain genuinely polite when you were mad? I know I wouldn't, although I'm not polite even when I am in a good mood.

Adrian lowers his arm and smiles uncertainly at me, like I'm suddenly going to morph into a giant bear and attack him.

I'm not, by the way. Giant bear mutts are way too lame. Maybe a panda. Pandas are awesome, unless they're trying to kill you. That must have sucked for the tributes of the 53rd Hunger Games, where evil red-eyed pandas would attack you if you went too far into the bamboo forest. Let's just say they killed a lot of tributes that year.

Distracted by my thoughts of killer pandas (which is totally off-topic but that's how I think), I don't realise Adrian's leaning in until his eyes are a few inches away from mine. For a second I'm wondering if he's going to full-out kiss me on the lips and try not to look too startled. But no, he just pecks me on the forehead before leaning back and smiling again. A more confident one. It's returned promptly, although I'm confused. One minute he's telling me we can't be allies, next he's kissing me. That's definitely something that means we have to be 'together' for that to work. I so do not get Adrian's logic. Wasn't he the one complaining about how we should be blending in with the crowd? Ha, so much for that plan, nobody in Panem was going to forget us now. What with all the stage effects and the kiss. Nobody has ever done _that _before. Kiss their District partner, that is. I dare say that no one had seen it coming. Well I certainly hadn't.

To think that I was supposed to be the one who's as predictable as lightning. Now that could apply to both of us, working together. You never knew when we would strike. Or where.

Does he even care for me that way or is he just working the cameras? It'll be really nice to know because I. Am. Freaking. Clueless. And I hate being clueless. If I know what is going to happen next, it means that I can manipulate the coming events to my liking. Here, however, I can't do that. Consequently, I'm being caught off-guard too many times here. A stone seems to lodge in my stomach at that moment. Me being caught off-guard could lead to my death soon, which isn't the nicest thought.

The rest of the chariot rides went by in a flash afterwards.


	7. Little Berry

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)**

Chapter Six

**_Beryl Streep,_**

**_ District Three,_**

I regain my concentration as I stumble down from the chariots. While doing so, I notice most of the other tributes glaring at us. Probably envious that we stole the show from them. Okay, it was District Twelve that first thought of the idea of lighting their tributes. Who could forget the star-crossed lovers on fire? Although I still wonder why only Katniss was called 'the girl on fire' and not Peeta. Well she did look more in character with what I envision fire to be – powerful, fierce, ruthless. Peeta looked kind of cute, in a little kid way. Didn't really go with the outfit. He didn't look like anything much when he died of blood poisoning in the arena. I was kind of rooting for Felicia, the sly girl from Five, at that point. Well it had paid off as Felicia had won. Beats that District Two boy. He had personally killed both District Three tributes with his bare hands. I hoped that my neck wasn't snapped like that.

It would be a quick death though. Somehow, I doubted that a certain tribute from the same District would be quite as accommodating.

Whatever. He was going to kill me anyway. No point tiptoeing around anyone just because of the Hunger Games. Killing was required if you wanted to live to see next month, unless you were lucky. Mind you, at least one of us had signed their own death warrant when they had stepped forwards. And I was hoping it wasn't me.

"Oh little berry?" Adrian turned to me as soon as the camera and competition had dissipated. Little berry was his nickname for me. Personally I hated it. Made me sound innocent. Defenceless. Easy to crush. I didn't particularly want to be weak. Well maybe I was. Especially when it came to weight-lifting. I could barely lift fifty kilograms off the ground while Adrian could throw that amount of weight around like it was nothing. I face him and – like it's the first time – I notice the muscles packed in his body. Man, I must look like a bloodbath next to him. It's not the best position to be in and I'm sure I'm not the only one.

"What?" I snap. I still haven't forgotten the kiss on the chariot. Well it was only twenty or so minutes ago. The whole of Panem must have seen it. My enemies back in District Three are probably having a field day right now. I'm too annoyed at his spontaneity to be embarrassed. If he can catch me off guard in the freaking chariot rides, then how will I pay when he tries to do the same thing in the arena?

He stares at me steadily, "You going to show everyone your training tomorrow?" He refers to my training, which is sketchy compared to what Adrian received. He's been training since he was five or six by his adoptive father, who had obviously been dropped onto a marble floor too many times as a baby. I started a little bit later, officially, at the grand age of ten. Five, almost six years of training under my belt. When I cared to show up in between inventing new bombs to test out (it was a passion of mine).What did I have to show for the hours spent in Adrian's home? Not strength, that much was evident.

My weaponry skills would make up for it, hopefully. I could kind of hold my own in a sword fight but only when I had one sword. Concentrating with two swords was just so complicated. Personally I preferred using a spear because they tended to be lighter and therefore easier for me to carry. I was no match, unfortunately, for a proper Career if I ever sparred with one who specialised in sword-fighting. With maces I was hopeless unless someone was willing to just stand there and let me give them a slow death by incompetency. Mainly since I could hardly swing about a heavy piece of spiked metal. I'd probably impale myself with it. If they decided to have a rerun of the Games where the only weapons were maces, I was screwed. It was always a possibility since the Capitol had loved those Games. Plenty of blood, you know.

As for long-range weapons, I cannot aim a bow to save my life. Oh wait, that's a nice touch because chances are my life will come down to it. As for a spear, I'm alright with one. I always hit the main area of the target, that much I can say. In combat, I'm pretty lethal with a spear by my side. Spear kendo or something. How did I know this method of fighting? Well I had received more training that nobody else knew about. I didn't personally know the guy who ran the classes and I had to disguise myself so that I wasn't recognised and arrested as a criminal but I still learned a lot. And by that, I mean I knew how to wield a spear offensively in close-range combat. Another advantage is that kendo isn't exactly the most widely taught thing in Panem. Even the Careers were going to be surprised.

To put it simply, spears were my kind of thing. There was another weapon I could use well but they usually didn't include throwing stars in the weapons at the Cornucopia. Knives would probably have to do but I preferred throwing stars. So much easier to aim and throw with. However, knives were of more use close-range.

"Don't be stupid," I say automatically, "Everybody knows that we aren't from a Career District. They won't expect us to have any training, will they?" Well I couldn't wait to prove them wrong, but only when the time was right. Otherwise I lost the element of surprise and I needed every advantage I could get.

He just shrugs, "It's just that we can't look like weaklings. Just look at us; it's not like we're – "

"Trying to hide the fact that we have something to hide?" I interrupted.

"I was going to say that it's not like we look under-fed and incompetent so we have to back up that impression with some skills. Especially me."

I was going to reply with what I was going to do but when he had said those last two words, I remembered that he was on the opposite side to me. He was my enemy, despite the rule. If I told him anything, how do I know he wouldn't tell the Careers? He wouldn't split on me, would he?

"Wait, if we're not in a alliance, why do you think I'm going to tell you everything about what my plans are?"

We've reached the elevators and whatever he was going to say has to wait or else the other tributes would overhear. I board the elevator along with a pair of sullen-looking District Seven tributes, the girl from District Eleven and the two Careers from One. The doors close and I suddenly realise just how, you know, _enclosed _the space I currently occupied actually was. Small spaces did not go down well with me. I was just expecting the rectangular exterior to collapse or the air to run out and for everyone in here to suffocate and drop to the floor writhing around like fish out of water...

Okay, I may admit it's a _tiny _little bit unreasonable. But I can't help it. It just reminds me too much of one of the punishments I used to receive on a regular basis back at the community home. May have been several years ago but I can't help but remember it. Apart from the fact that this time, the box is moving and there's others here too. Adrian's holding my hand, that helps. Knowing someone's there. Even if they might be secretly plotting my demise, the human contact with someone you know helps. Considering that the general conversation between the people in the elevator consists of glaring at the awesomeness that is the District Three tributes this year or gawking at the District Eleven girl, Hayliana, it's pretty nice.

Hayliana. I remember her from the Reapings. Wait, Hayley. She didn't like being called by her full name, like me. Well Beryllium and Hayliana well pretty pretentious names. No offence to her or anything. You may be wondering why they were staring at the District Eleven girl. Well it's because of that not-so-subtle bump in her outfit. Said outfit does next to nothing to hide it. I should have noticed back in the Reaping but I wasn't paying too much attention and her outfit had been majorly baggy so I hadn't noticed. Observant I was. I really needed to work on that or else I would be dead within four days. Two things hit me at this moment, because I am exceptionally bright and intelligent as usual:

One, she's pregnant. Yes, this is an amazing observation, isn't it? Probably due to give birth pretty soon. Well actually I wouldn't really know, I'm not a doctor. However I'm pretty sure that a stomach that big means she's due any day now.

Two, she's under eighteen. Unless the Capitol have decided to increase the range of ages that you can be reaped in, which I haven't heard about. Therefore, she must still be a teenager. I wouldn't have a clue about how she became pregnant but she probably gets a lot of crap about it back in District Eleven. I knew that if I became pregnant that I would back in my District. Having bottles and other random junk chucked at you, whispers, disdainful glances and not having anyone to turn to. Depressing, right?

Yeah I know, my District just loves me. Anyway, this girl – Hayley – was definitely not going to be treated nicely here, except when her interviews come up and the Capitol can pretend to care. Because not caring about her situation just wasn't fashionable right now.

I could afford to be slightly sympathetic, but not much more than that. It wasn't like I could walk up to her and go 'I know how you feel' because I don't. But I felt sorry for her. Pregnant girls had gone in before, once or twice. It had never ended well and I doubted this was going to be an exception.

Hayley didn't look like she wanted sympathy from anyone though, head raised defiantly as she stared down any tribute who dared to look contemptuously at her. And the tributes from One and Seven were doing an awful lot of that. Her District partner was absent so she was alone. I noted, with some irritation, that the Seven and Eleven tributes had also dressed up in legendary clothes. District Seven looked like tree sprites while Hayley was wearing red robes and a golden crown. Her robe had patterns of fruit adorned onto it and they sparkled in the light. They looked like they were made of crystals. It was really cool-looking.

Nobody said anything for a while. All you could hear was the slight creaking of the elevator, then you could hear the Careers whispering. None too quietly either.

"We might as well be preparing for our new mansions in District One right now." The girl whispered, "How are any of these idiots possibly going to beat us?"

"They won't," The boy answered, although I detected a note of anger in his voice that was not aimed at us, "Swinging an axe is nothing against my spears."

"They'll be dead before the gong rings," The girl giggles manically, disregarding the fact that you can't technically die before the gong goes off unless you step off the plate, "None of them better even think about them standing a chance because with us here, they won't."

"Especially the Eleven slut," The boy sniggered, ignoring the hostility that District Seven were now radiating at them. He raised his voice so that you couldn't possibly not hear him, "That baby isn't going to save you." He sneered at Hayley, who just crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly ignored him. I don't think he was going to give up that easily though.

He walked up to her, cornering her in the corner of the elevator and getting in her personal space. Honestly, that guy was so rude. He jabbed at her harshly in the stomach, "You'd better be listening, Eleven. I bet you won't be ignoring me when you're in the arena." His District partner was by his side, giving Hayley an evil smile. She was still ignoring them though and this was doing a great job in antagonising them further. Okay, I can't really criticise her on that point because I would do the exact same thing. Except that I would be saying something and not just ignoring them. Both of the Career tributes scowled and then grabbed Hayley by her wrists and slammed her into the elevator.

The Career girl cackled, sounding weirdly like one of those evil green witches that have a cauldron and spend their time brewing horrid-looking concoctions, "I think we'll start here." She held up one of Hayley's wrists, "I'd like to see her go into training with a broken arm. Or maybe two."

"Heliotrope," The boy warned in a mock chastising tone – ugh, why did District One tributes have such stupid names? It defies belief. To be fair, I thought he said 'Hell-trope' at first, which is just as stupid. Although it might be more apt as she appeared to be one of those psychotic, demonic Careers and not the normal kind of Career. You know, when I talk about the 'normal' type of Careers, I'm talking about the slightly unhinged and emotionless kind, "I don't think that's a good idea." Heliotrope turned to look at the boy questioningly but the look faded as he carried on, "You should break her legs instead. Then she won't be going anywhere in the bloodbath. We'll teach her an actual lesson and it's perfectly legal." He shoved Hayley to the ground and shot her a nasty smile while I winced inwardly. Great, you know that something is seriously wrong with Panem when you're talking about torturing someone as 'legal'. Especially someone who wasn't even eighteen or nineteen. _Especially _somebody who was pregnant. Yes, this is the Hunger Games but torture was just so, well, I don't know. Evil, maybe? It's also incredibly cliché, if you ask me. Usually the standard evil villain would just want to kill the protagonist in any film. This was the Hunger Games, however, where _everyone _is required to kill, good or evil. So I guess torture was the new evil accomplishment. Not like I'm calling Hayliana the protagonist. Actually, I don't know who the good girl/ guy is. It's certainly not me or Adrian. We weren't exactly evil but we were not what you would call law-abiding, decent citizens or heroes. We weren't evil though, so torture wasn't on our agendas. Hurting tributes before the Games was banned anyway, so I doubted they would actually hurt her too much now. But I wasn't really one for just standing by while somebody was being bullied by someone else.

Walking over, I pushed the idiots out of the way and stood next to Hayley, extending an arm so she could get up. She ignores it and stands up on her own, "Don't you know anything about personal space?" I say in pure diva-style, complete with snapping my fingers near the Career guy's face. My sparkly make-up and dress also added to the effect. I made a mental note to thank my stylists later.

The looks of surprise on everyone's faces – Adrian and the Seven tributes included – is almost comedic. In fact, I would have laughed but it would have ruined the effect so I just settled for a tight-lipped smile. The Careers from One were not amused though.

"Don't you know anything about staying out of our business?" The girl snapped back, storming over so that she was in front of me.

"No, not really." I reply nonchalantly, inspecting my nails like they were more important that the crazy girl in front of me.

She snarled. No really, she sounded like one of those mad dog mutts they had in the 77th Hunger Games, which had been set on a beautiful tropical island. A small island. Filled with rabid mutts. This girl kind of reminded me of one of those. "Well you'd damn well better." She did one of those annoying hair flips that girl tributes from One had a tendency to do, "Or you'll pay just like _she _will." She spat at Hayley.

I rolled my eyes, "What did she ever do to you? Not bow down and worship you when you walked by or something?"

Her eyes flared up, "She _exists,_" She hissed, spraying her saliva all over my face. I resisted the temptation to wipe it off, "She's in the way of me being the best girl in all the Districts. Like you are."

There's a snort from the District Seven boy, "You wouldn't be the best girl in all the Districts even if you were the only girl left." As she whirls around to glare at him, I ''accidentally'' shove her so she falls into the elevator door, which opens and she is send sprawling onto the carpet.

Now that's what I call impeccable timing on my part. Ignoring the fact that I'm going to have my name in bold on their list of tributes to kill first.

Well, there's no point pretending to be sorry now. I wave at her and smile as she scrambles up and shoots daggers at me. I quickly leap out of the way as her District partner stomps over and joins her in the glaring. Oh how I love annoying people.

Me and Adrian get off next and I sense another lecture about my behaviour brewing. He's worse than Electra, who never lets up on how presentable I don't look or how I'm not smiling and waving constantly. Sure enough, as soon as the elevator takes us away from the curious eyes of the others, he spins around and glares at me.

"What?" I snap. I don't really like this whole experience. Gaining the hatred of at least half of your would-be killers is not a smart move. But I wasn't going to change how I acted just because of that fact. They were going to try and kill me soon, why not make them hate me? Might as well make them feel less guilty. Not all of them would be personally gunning for me anyway, aside from the Careers. All I could hope for was to avoid them. Shouldn't be too difficult. Sprint in, grab a backpack and a knife or something and get out again. Although that's what most tributes usually tried to do. I needed to think of something more fool-proof. Maybe hide in the supplies and secretly steal from them when the Career tributes weren't looking? No, too risky and one of them would probably see me and alert the others. Then I'd be trapped and would stand no chance. Those supplies at the mouth of the Cornucopia always looked so tempting, though.

Planning was going to have to wait, evidently, as the tapping of Adrian's foot sent me out of my thinking. Apparently he had said something in response but I hadn't listened to a word.

"Huh?" An eloquent response, I know, but it was the only thing that came to mind.

He looked annoyed at my lack of response, "I really hope that you pay more attention to your surroundings in the arena. Your concentration is awful." He says this is a flat, but patronising tone that annoys me. I wasn't that much younger than he was.

"I'm not a child," I snap, "Don't treat me like one."

His eyes flash, "Then don't act like a child." He places his hands on my shoulders, "Since you weren't listening the first time," Adrian's voice is terse, "I'll explain again – stop annoying the other tributes. Especially the Careers."

"Why? Everyone's going to be trying to kill me soon anyway. Being nice isn't going to make the others put my life before theirs, is it?"

"Well you could make my job a little easier, couldn't you?" He finally snaps. His words hang in the silence as I stare at him, shocked. In a calmer voice, he continues, "Is it too difficult to not get everybody's attention?"

"Yes, yes it is," I shout back, "Did you not notice our chariot outfits? We're hardly flying under the radar. Seriously, forget the idea already."

"Coming from the girl who told me not to show off my skills to the other tributes."

"No, I said not to show – " We both hear the elevator doors opening and shut up. A busy-looking Electra scurries though. Judging by the frequent glances we're getting, she probably heard every word of our argument. We weren't trying to be subtle, I guess.

"Just getting my handbag." Electra looks at me like I'm about to pounce on her with a knife. Oh yeah, she thinks I'm a savage. She enters my bedroom and leaves a few seconds later, holding something that is definitely not a handbag, "Hey," My voice is indignant. My suspicions are increased when Electra starts running towards the elevator. I pelt off after her but she's inside the elevator and the doors are closing as I get within two metres of her. I still can't see what she took and I glare at her. The last thing I see before the doors close is her fearful expression, still clutching whatever she took.

Aggravated, I whirl around and almost walk into Adrian, who looks even more annoyed than me. Grabbing my arm, he drags me to my room and shoves me onto the bed. In the dim lighting I can just make out his green eyes, glinting with barely-suppressed anger and another emotion that I can't identify.

I look around the room but don't notice any of my meagre possessions missing, "Well it doesn't look like she's taken anything important." I remark sagely.

The grip on my arms tighten, "So you care more about your belongings than your life." He states flatly, "Since you are acting more worried about them."

"I'm not fighting for my life yet." I say dismissively.

This earns me nothing but a pitying look, "Little berry, I don't think the pre-Game events are there just so the Capitol can party. Every little thing you do is capable of gaining you sponsors. Sponsors can be the difference between life and death."

"Don't call me little berry!" I snap at him, despite the fact that he's the one squashing me. I then return to the matter at hand, "And if you're so worried about sponsors, then why do you keep shouting at me when I try and net them?"

"Because I care, okay? I care for you," Adrian exhales in an attempt to keep calm, "I don't want you to die painfully, that's all I want. Or for you to die in the arena because I couldn't help you."

I pause for a second, "Yeah about that, Adrian. If someone is giving me a horrible, slow and extremely painful death, it'll be nice if you cut in with a quick one."

"I'd prefer not to kill you at all." He looks a bit uncomfortable, possibly at the mention of my death. "Anyway, you won't be dead because you're going to win. Capitol citizens want to sponsor a winner, don't they? Look and act like someone they want to win and you'll stand a better chance."

"Yeah, a better chance. That's hardly a guarantee of victory," A thought occurs to me, "How the hell am I supposed to act anyway? As a weakling or a competitor? Could you stop moping and help me out here? Oh, and make up your mind about it?"

"I've helped you for most of your damn life," He snarls, "Stop acting like a dumb bimbo." He gets off me and paces the room while I move myself into a lying position on the bed.

I motion with my hands at my revealing dress, "You said acting like they want me to would mean more sponsors. Well they dress me up like a bimbo, why not act like one too?"

"Look around," Adrian gestures with his hand to the empty compartment, "Nobody is around to see you. You don't have to act like this anymore. It's only me."

"Act like what?"

"Act like this is a game. This is serious. We could be dead by next week."

"Wow, what a cheery way of looking at things." My sarcasm is tangible.

He just looks at me intently, anger gone, willing for me to understand, "Please Beryl, take these Games seriously. Please, I don't want you to die."

I'm about to retort with another cutting comment but the look in Adrian's eyes stops me. It's not the anger that the District One tributes projected when I challenged them in the elevator. It's not the predatory gaze that Felix regards everyone with. It's not the constant hostility that the other tributes seem to project. It's a look of sadness. And longing – that's the emotion I couldn't identify earlier. Like he doesn't know how long he'll be able to set his eyes on me, so he's taking every opportunity that he can. It makes me sad, knowing that the time left until we meet our possible demise is decreasing steadily.

"I'll try," I grin, attempting to lighten up the depressing mood that hangs over this room like smoke, "But it's just too much fun to act normal."

He remains stoic, "Do you ever change?"

Grinning even more, I reply, "Nope, I ain't ever going to change."

He just shrugs, "If you say so."

He doesn't do anything for a while after that. A few minutes later, he just shakes his head and sits next to me. His arm wraps around my neck and I lean my head upon his shoulder. He strokes my hair softly and doesn't say anything.

We don't do anything, actually. No words, no movement. Nothing but the two of us lying together on this bed, watching the remnants of today fade away and staring impassively as the night arrives. Looking at the glittery specks in the night sky that are all we can see of the stars and then in front of us, the harsh orange lights of the Capitol light up the horizon like a fire. A imitation of the simple majesty of the universe.

It's like old times. Me and Adrian lying in front of our lake, watching the sun go down.

I'm conscious of the fact that I'm growing sleepy, but I don't want to ruin this moment. Adrian hasn't moved and I don't want him to, although that might be the sleepy me talking. Somehow I don't think it is though. He's always been there for me. How could I live without him?

Well I never wanted to find out. And I wouldn't, if I could help it. Despite my words, I wasn't just going to die. I was going to fight and never mind the consequences. That last declaration shouldn't be too hard – I had spent most of my life fighting authority and I wasn't going to stop now. I couldn't stop now, my life was on the line and this time I couldn't just run away from the responsibility. That method? It only goes so far in the Hunger Games. Fight or die. Kill or be killed was the rule now.

Don't just die, I think to myself. Don't just starve or freeze or dehydrate to death. Don't just be that tribute that is killed in their sleep or dies due to lack of common sense. Don't just give up without a fight.

Don't just die.


	8. Before the Training

**The 79th Hunger Games  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)  
**

Chapter Seven

**_Adrian Massey, _**

**_District Three,_**

I can tell the moment that she falls asleep when the tension that still remained in her body eases away and her breathing deepens. Her arms rest on mine and I gently place them back on the bed as I get up. Looking down on her, I'm stuck by her child-like expression.

She's still pretty though. Not in that flawless way that you see on every magazine cover in the Capitol though. Her skin is pale aside from a slight tan that breathes life into her. A few freckles are sprinkled on her nose and cheeks. She looks natural, not like the freakish mannequins the Capitolites impersonate so well. Like a actual human being with flaws, although her flaws only make her more attractive to me. She turns her head slightly and her facial features are made more apparent. Long, thick eyelashes are prominent against her skin, hiding mischievous brown eyes behind them. Breathing shallow, undisturbed by any nightmares or bad dreams. Lips slightly parted, begging to be kissed.

Not like she knows that I want to. Kiss her, that is. She'll never look at me the same way again. She's always been like a little sister to me, before now that is. You know, the really annoying but adorable sister that you really want to slap but you just can't. I'm not sure when I stopped loving her like a sister and started loving her like this. Well, I don't know how I love her now either, I just know I do.

My mind flies back to when I kissed her on the train and when I kissed her a second time on the chariots. In front of everyone. She'll probably be onto something now. Great, she's going to hate me forever. Beryl hates looking weak and – according to her – being in love is a weakness. And I just showcased my love for her in front of the whole of Panem.

Doesn't mean that I'm weak though. It just means that people know I'll defend Beryl. With my life. Preferably I would like to stay alive and enjoy the benefits of living however. And how will I look after Beryl if I'm dead?

What even happens when you die?

It's not really a question that I've ever really thought about. Any of that heaven-and-hell stuff wasn't anything that I was knowledgeable about. Religion was banned in Panem, wherever it was Christianity, Islam or Buddhism. Everyone had a different opinion about what happened to you after you take your last breath but all I know is that I don't want to find out yet. Not for a long, long time. It should be me and Beryl in our own house, not pursued by the authorities anymore. Actually, we'll have a house each but I'll share with Beryl if she doesn't mind. Hopefully she wouldn't. We'll sit and reminisce on our hectic childhood and the fact that – to the Peace-keepers – we were practically untouchable. No victor was treated like a 'commoner' by the Peace-keepers. As in, you weren't shot for defying the Capitol in the smallest ways. Me and Beryl? Well if we weren't so skilled, we would be dead ten times over. Our District was going to benefit a lot from our absence.

That's all it was going to be though. An absence. Nobody was going to be making some fancy speech about me at the Victory Tour while I was shoved into a coffin. On the contrary, it would be me and Beryl going on about how amazing a tribute was. I'll admit, I wasn't looking forward to that but I'll live.

I tuck a stray curl behind her ear. She hates that curl. Always gets in her way, she says. However she doesn't do the logical thing and cut it off. When I suggested that to her once, she didn't take it too well. It can't bother her that much if she won't do anything about it. Or maybe it's a girl thing. They obsess over their hair way too much.

Gently resting her head on one of the couch pillows, I get up to watch the recaps of the chariot rides. Next door to the room Beryl was sleeping in was where the television resided. My mentor was sitting up straight, staring at the television with a notepad handy. I didn't see why the chariot rides required note-taking but I appreciated Beetee's dedication to his tributes. He's done more for me than Zayna has for Beryl. How is Beryl going to get any help from that drug addict is beyond me. Zayna is donning a worn denim jacket that looks unkempt and dirty. Actually, her whole appearance is shabby, in general. She's in no shape to be looking after anybody else. To think that she's barely a few months older than I am.

I glare at her. If Beryl doesn't get any sponsors, it's going to be partly her fault. No Capitol citizen wants to make a deal with someone like Zayna.

Beetee coughs pointedly and I turn my attention to the television while seating myself on the couch. I jump, startled, when it flickers on without warning and Beetee chuckles good-naturedly, "Every tribute does that. It's programmed to turn on automatically when something important is being shown."

I nod in understanding, having realised as much and none of us say anything as the District One chariot appears. Beetee furiously scribbles down something as they stop to the far side of the City Circle. I hope I get to read those notes. Well I probably would. Then District Two arrive. They smile flirtatiously at the crowd while blowing kisses. They'll receive a lot of sponsors. Well, they would have done if a dramatic burst of light from my chariot hadn't engulfed them so that you couldn't see them anymore.

And there we were. Two strong, powerful-looking figures against the light radiating from our chariot. Hands linked together, me and Beryl looked invincible. Then the light dimmed and you can clearly see our expressions as I lean down. She looks shocked for a second and then smiles at me. I'm surprised she hasn't said anything about that yet but I'm sure she'll get around to interrogating me about my motives. Girls always had a tendency to do that as well.

District Four could hardly be seen thanks to us and when the stage effects are dimmed enough so you can see them, the male tribute – who I learned is called Falcon – is glaring at me with a stony expression that puts me on edge while his companion, Annabel, is wailing and shaking in her dress. Definitely not the best year for them. Districts Five and Six aren't much better – the Five tributes look like they want to cry while the Six boy is glaring at everyone like they've all personally wronged him. His district partner looks distracted and probably wasn't going to last long on her own. The tributes from the lumber District smile and wave as they stand on their chariot, looking like tree nymphs. The crowd cheer loudly for them. They'll be a threat as well. The boy definitely would be, the girl I wasn't so sure about. There was a certain shyness suggested in her posture, a certain measure of uncertainty in her smile that made me wonder if she was really as confident as her District partner.

Districts Eight and Ten wear the usual chariot outfits they do every year. The two tributes from Nine wear outfits that suggest they are trying to play the role of a god and goddess. The girl is wearing a flowing black gown and holds a bow and arrow in her hand. Unsurprisingly, the boy wears a loincloth – as most gods tended not to wear anything to cover their chest area with – the white colour contrasting with the girl's outfit. He also has a bow and occasionally posed with it, to the delight of the crowd. The tributes from Eleven have tried to copy the same theme that District One have done but since the robes they wear are so bulky in comparison to the tributes, they just look like children playing dress-up with adult clothes. If you thought about it, we were all just children, forced to play an game not even adults wanted to play. The killing game.

District Twelve rounded off the chariot arrivals but made no lasting impression. However, the crowd politely clap for them. As soon as they have stationed themselves in the City Circle, President Snow appears and looks down upon us from his balcony. The crowd screams enthusiastically as he steps forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present to you, the tributes of this year's annual Hunger Games." More screaming is heard, as well as the chanting of the most popular tributes. My name is heard more than once. So is Beryl's. Looks like we're in the crowds' favour so far. That's going to benefit us later. Silence then settles as the president waits patiently for his chance to finish his speech, "Now, for this year's Hunger Games, we have introduced a few new _twists _for our chosen tributes," That was not a good sign. Any 'new twists' that were introduced in non-Quarter Quell Games tended to mean more misery for whoever was put into these Games. That was going to happen to me now. I had turned to Beryl on the chariot rides but she didn't seem to be listening to a word President Snow was saying, "We are revealing the twist for this year's Hunger Games tomorrow. Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour."

The television turns off and Beetee hands me the piece of paper. As well as Beetee's impressions of the chariot rides, there's also information on the Reapings.

"Thank you," I say politely to my mentor, who smiles wanly back before proceeding into his instructions for the training tomorrow.

"You are going to show off for the Careers so that they consider you worthy," He starts and I nod in agreement. This I was already going to do, "However, don't show them everything you can do. Excel in sword-fighting but don't tell them you can throw knives. That'll give you the element of surprise which can be a major factor in defeating them when it comes down to that."

I'm slightly confused at how I can achieve this, "And how do I hide the fact that I can throw a knife with accuracy?"

Beetee grabs a glass and pours himself a drink, "Don't flaunt your ability but don't avoid the station either. If you do go there, pretend that you only know the basics. But don't go there unless you can help it. Learn some survival skills as well so that you know what's safe and what's poisonous. It might sound pointless but you never know what happens in the arena."

I consider this, "Seems reasonable. Anything else?" When he shakes his head, I get up, "Guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

_Sleep didn't come very easily and when it did, I found myself in a forest. The golden Cornucopia was in the distance and gleamed in the moonlight. In the clearing I was in, the rest of the Careers were surrounding a small young girl in the middle of the clearing. With a jolt I realise that it's Beryl. She's lying on the ground, still semi-conscious and covered in blood. I let out a gasp of shock and try to run towards her but strong arms pull me back. "Let me go." I shout, struggling to get out of Falcon's grip. _

_He doesn't say anything and he doesn't let go either. As I flail around, trying to break free, Felix and Xenia make their way over to me, holding weapons in their hands, weapons that have blood already on them. Beryl's blood. _

_Their satisfied expressions make me sick. My disgust and horror must have shown on my face as their smug smiles only get wider. Smirking, Xenia plunges her knife into Beryl's arm and she screams in pain, "Let her go." I shout, "She hasn't done anything to you."_

_Felix kicks me in the stomach. Hard, "Shut up," He orders, "This is the Hunger Games, Adrian. Do you think we're just going to die for her?" He laughs nastily, "I don't think so." He kick me harshly again, this time into my chest._

"_You don't have to torture her." I gasp out. Another scream is elicited from Beryl as Heliotrope laughs. Felix blocks my view so I can't see how they're hurting her. Why can't I help her?_

_Felix just grins, "But she's so fragile," He croons, "There's no room for that here," He hands me a knife as Falcon lets go of me. I'm sent sprawling to the floor and almost impale myself on the knife. Almost, "You've always wanted to know how she ticks. Well here's your chance." _

_I shake my head, horrified. I joined the Careers so that she wouldn't be hurt. So I could help her evade them until I left. This could not be happening._

_Xenia grabs the knife from Felix, "Forget it, Three," She snarls, "You've had your chance. You and your stupid girlfriend." With those words, she plunges the knife into my stomach._

Without any warning I wake up. The silk bedsheets are wrapped around me tightly and I struggle to escape from them. Suddenly the bedroom seems so stuffy. I quickly put on something decent and run out, trying to find the elevator. I needed to get out of here right now.

Aimlessly stumbling around trying to find the elevator takes some time but eventually I find it, get in and press the button that leads to the rooftop. Nobody else is in the elevator which is good. I needed some time to think without everyone else scrutinising me for a weakness. With a ding, the elevator doors open and I walk out onto the roof.

Nobody else is here, not at first glance anyway. No person is illuminated in the lights that are dotted around the rectangular rooftop. The benches are busy gathering dust and stray leaves and the only sound audible to me was the distant cheering of the Capitol citizens as they celebrated. Then I realised there were voices. Hushed and quiet, but still voices. They were close by as well. Well they must be; whispers wouldn't spread very far over the partying and the rushing sound of wind up here. Behind a row of potted trees and bushes – boasting vibrant green leaves – seems to be where the sounds are coming from. Silently, I creep over and peek my head around the trees so I can see who the people talking are.

It's the Six tributes. Both of them. The girl appears to be on the verge of tears while the boy looks like he's on the verge of leaving.

"Pl-please don't," The girls begs, "Honestly Flint, I can explain – "

"I've think you've already explained enough," The boy – Flint – cuts in harshly and I'm wondering what they're talking about. It's not like they're going to tell me if I ask. I make myself comfortable as I eavesdrop.

"How am I supposed to trust you now?" Flint growls.

"It wasn't what it l-looked like, I-I swear." The girl's words kept being interrupted by her constant sobs.

"They all say that," Flint sneers, "To think that I got myself into this mess, to think that I almost got killed by the Peace-keepers and put in the Hunger Games for you. Firstly I'm facing six highly-trained, bloodthirsty monsters, wait, make that seven since that Three kid decided to join," I clench my jaw at how he had just dismissed me as a monster, "And now they've introducing a new twist tomorrow. Who cares if two tributes can live, I'm not allying with a lying witch like you."

"You're going to l-let me die?" The girl was visibly crying now, tears pouring down her porcelain cheeks.

"It's not ''letting you die'' because I won't be around to see it. I always said that if I was going into the Hunger Games, I'd go solo. I'm glad that I don't have to change that."

"Please, Flint," The girl made one last attempt to plead with him, "I don't want to die. You can't hate me that much to watch me di – "

Flint interrupts again, "I've already told you Adele, I'm not going to be around to see you dead. Go ally with someone else."

His words ring in the air as Adele stops sobbing suddenly. Her eyes, which were once shining with tears, turn flat and cold. The many strands of blonde hair which had covered her face are tucked behind her ears as she stands up and glares at Flint. The effect isn't completely ruined as she's slightly taller than he is. However, her eyes are still rimmed red and she's skinnier than a twig so she doesn't look particularly intimidating. She hisses at him, "You'll regret this."

Flint glares at Adele, "One minute you're on your knees begging me for forgiveness, next you're threatening to kill me? I doubt you have what it takes."

Adele tilts her head back arrogantly, "It won't be me though. I'll make an alliance so large, not even the Careers will rival it. You won't stand a chance on your own."

I hold back a laugh. Like anybody was going to be stupid enough to form an alliance to tackle the Careers. You might as well group all the idiots together and wave a flag shouting "Come and get me!". Anyone who joined that alliance would definitely not last long.

Flint evidently was thinking along the same lines as I was, "So your strategy is to lump everyone together so the Careers can kill them easier? Yeah, I doubt that's going to work out for you," His eyes dart to the elevator doors and when he does, he sees me. His eyes narrow dangerously as I stroll confidently over to wear they are situated, "What are _you _doing here?"

I adopt a confident front, "I could ask you two the same thing."

"It's none of your business. We were here first." Flint snarls back.

"So what?" I laugh, "It's not your area, is it?"

He opens his mouth to retort but Adele steps in front of him, a sly smile slowly forming on her face, "Now, now," She says, "No need for fighting, is there?" She bats her eyelashes at me while inching closer. Flint glowers at Adele and I give her a distasteful look. I already know what she's going to ask but I don't interrupt as she continues, "It'll be a waste of a good ally otherwise. Think about it. You're strong, I'm smart. We're the perfect team."

Smart? She was definitely direct and wasn't afraid of using people to get what she wanted, I'll say that much. If she was hiding something up her sleeve, I didn't want to go anywhere near her. Not forgetting that she looked weak. She'll only hold me back and I already had an alliance. An alliance which she had no chance of being part of, "I don't think so. If your district partner doesn't want you – and he seems to know you pretty well – then neither do I."

Flint is still shooting evil looks at Adele when I say this while she looks offended. I smirk and turn back to the elevator. Looks like I wouldn't be getting any peace and quiet up here while they were arguing.

The elevator takes a while to open its doors and when they do I realise why. Because both tributes from District Two are standing there. Xenia has an expression of disdain on her pretty face while Felix is rubbing one of his eyes like it hurts.

"Where's your District partner, Three?" Xenia sniffs at me, her chin lifted so that she could look down on me since we were similar heights.

"Not here." I reply cryptically. This earns me a scowl from her while Felix looks at me expressionlessly.

"I think we could have gathered that." Felix replies before Xenia can say anything.

"Why do you care where she is anyway?" I ask.

Felix smirks, "Just curious. Isn't she your girlfriend now?" He and Xenia slowly corner me into the elevator and shoot me wicked smiles, "You going to leave the Careers for her, lover boy?"

"I don't see why she can't join the Careers as well." I reply coolly, not breaking eye contact with him until he looks away with a frown.

Xenia laughs, "You must be joking. She's pathetic. Honestly, she probably can't even lift a sword, let alone use it."

Felix adds, "And she's impudent," He stops rubbing his eye and I can see that there are several red marks around it, "That bitch attacked me with a pair of high heels. High heels." He growls.

I laugh at the statement before I can stop myself and as a result, find myself with two pairs of eyes figuratively burning holes into me. Quickly, I say, "Well if she's that good with only a pair of shoes, imagine what she can do with a knife."

"Ha ha," Xenia says in a sour tone, "Very funny. You won't be laughing so much when we catch up with her in the arena. Only four or so days left before she goes back to District Three. In a coffin."

I remember my dream and sober up. I really didn't want that to become reality. Felix shoves me into the elevator wall hard and doesn't let go as he speaks.

"We'll let you go back to your girlfriend. As Xenia said, you only have four days left with her before she becomes a corpse at the bloodbath. Wouldn't want to waste a minute, would you? Because when I'm done with your little Beryl, you won't even recognise her." Laughing meanly, he and Xenia exit as I press the button that has the number '3' on it. Three for District Three. It's hardly difficult to remember. I try not to shiver as I recall Felix's last words. He's not going to give her a clean death. Far from it.

I debate wherever I should enlighten Beryl on this but I doubt she'll care. She's never been scared of the Career tributes. Although I really wish she didn't have to attack Felix with a pair of high-heels. Of all the stupid things she has to do. Hopefully she won't pay too much for that but karma has a funny way of biting back in the Hunger Games. Running a hand though my hair, I sigh. When I had made plans for the Hunger Games, I didn't think to involve Beryl in them. Now I wish I had done.

Everything would have gone so much smoother if my District partner was just another typical weakling who didn't stand a chance. But then I remember the little girl that Beryl had prevented from going into the Games. Vienna something. She was twelve, if I recall correctly. Malnourished and trembling in her tattered shoes. Somehow, the prospect of watching her die at Felix's hand doesn't really appeal to me that much. Especially as he wasn't going to be nice to her and kill her quickly. I had no idea what kind of person would want to torture a twelve-year old but he had made it pretty clear that nobody was exempt from dying painfully if he caught up with them. The girl from District Eight was twelve as well. But nobody in her District had saved her from almost-certain death.

I'd still let her go into the Hunger Games if it meant that Beryl was safe. Vienna that is, not the District Eight girl. But if what she told me is true and not just another one of her wild theories, then staying silent during the Reapings wouldn't have made any difference to her safety.

This thought wasn't doing a great job of making my day any better and it's only one in the morning. If the clock that was at the other end of the hallway was any indicator. Getting out of the elevator, I walk over to my room, then reconsider.

A wicked grin on my face, I stroll over to the unlocked door of Beryl's room and open the door. Last time I saw her, she was curled up like a cat on the bed sleeping. However I hoped she was in here, still asleep so I could surprise her. My grin widens. She would probably try and kill me for disturbing her 'beauty sleep' or whatever. Like she needed it.

No she was awake now. On the plus side, she hadn't noticed me because she had what looked like an explosion of wires in her hands and was working feverishly on linking them into certain inputs. I had no idea what she thought she would achieve by doing this but she looked slightly frustrated. Quietly, I tip-toe over to her bed and – after she _still _hasn't noticed me – jump on top of her, "Boo!"

Her weird invention tumbles down onto the carpet as she drops it. After straining her neck to see that it's not broken, she turns and glares at me. Since I've trapped her and she's underneath me, it takes her some effort.

"What the hell are you doing in my room at," She squints at her alarm clock on her bedside table, "One in the morning?"

"Paying you a visit, obviously." I shoot her a superior smirk which I know will only annoy her even further. She's kind of cute when she's annoyed. Well, until she grabs the closest object available and starts whacking you over the head with it. That's not so fun.

She mumbles something that sounds far from complimentary under her breath, then tries to roll me off her. She doesn't succeed – which is a good thing since if I had rolled over one more time to the right, I would have fallen off the bed and possibly hit my head on the table, "What do you want?" She hisses once she's stopped struggling.

When she has stopped, I roll over to the left until I'm facing her and draw her in for a hug. She rolls her eyes but doesn't resist and I smile as her arms link together behind my back. Without thinking, I tilt back her head with one hand and kiss her lightly on the lips.

If I could record the utterly shocked expression on her face as her jaw drops, I would. It is priceless. She's also speechless but considering this is Beryl, that isn't going to last long. And sure enough, it doesn't. I think it's because I was too busy laughing at her shocked expression. So busy that I fail to notice her hand move until she slaps me.

"You think this is a game?" She worms her way out of my grip and looks at me venomously.

My smirk only widens, "Well it is the Hunger Games."

Beryl sits up onto her bed and crosses her arms defensively, "What is your point? Did you think you could just waltz in here and treat me like one of your stupid girlfriends and I'd be okay with it? Because I'm not," I open my mouth to reply but it's clear that she's not done yet, "Why do you keep kissing me out of nowhere? On the train ride, on the chariots in front of the whole of Panem and now here. If you're just doing this for sponsors, then you really should have – " I silence her by lightly tapping a finger against her lips in a hush-hush motion. Now would be a brilliant moment to tell her how I really feel about her.

"Beryl," I murmur, trying to keep my voice even as I muster the courage to say the words. Hasn't she already guessed? Well I guess not but when I tell her she'll realise. She won't think I'm using her, will she? Beryl wouldn't think I would use her like that, right? Then I remember the last thing she said to me. _Do you think you could just waltz in here and treat me like one of your stupid girlfriends and I'd be okay with it?. _Only thing is, I'm not. Not treating her like I would treat my girlfriends, that is. Well she wouldn't know about how I act around them anyway, "Beryl, I think I – "

"Adrian," She mimics my tone, "If you're pretending to have a romance with me for the audience, then that's fine. Just that next time, some notification would be nice," She furrows her eyebrows in concentration, "Wait, did I pronounce that right? Notification? It's such a mouthful."

The moment is gone and I lean back, "Um, yeah. It's pronounced notification." I just say lamely.

She smiles in satisfaction, "I thought so. But anyway, what were you gonna say?"

Her eyes are watching me expectantly but I sense that if I tell her now, she'll react as if I had slapped her. As in, she'll think I'm using her for the sponsors, "Oh, nothing," I say dismissively.

She raises an eyebrow, "Sure, sure, if you say so," Beryl twirls a curl of hair around her finger as she speaks, "Mind you, I really wish you had told me beforehand. I didn't really want to be the star-crossed lovers from District Three. I hate acting, being something that I'm not and now I have to." She looks unhappy and it's this that makes me realise that she _might _not feel the same way. Maybe it's a good thing that I didn't tell her...

"So you'd be acting then." I say, deadpan.

Beryl looks vaguely uncomfortable and her eyes won't meet mine, for reasons which I can't quite decode "Wouldn't you?"

"Oh, sure," No, I wouldn't be actually, but it doesn't seem like you've noticed this, does it?

Her cheery mood from earlier returns, "That's fine then. It's just an act, isn't it? We're just friends." Beryl sounds like she's trying to convince herself as much as she's trying to convince me.

"Yeah yeah, sure. We're just friends, nothing more." I babble, not sounding particularly certain of this at all. But Beryl seems to fall for this.

"Great," She gives me a smile which I return promptly, "So, how are we going to continue this lovers routine when we're in different alliances?"

"Well, like you said, I can't be a Career forever, right? So I'll eventually desert them and find you."

She sighs in exasperation, "Really? That's your grand plan? How are you planning on finding me in a arena that's usually has a area of, I dunno, several miles?"

My smile fades, "Well, maybe if you hid near the Career pack..." Her sceptical expression stops me mid-sentence and I concede her point, "Okay, that isn't such a great plan."

She's about to say something when her head whips around to the door, "Did you hear that?" She whispers. Beryl then turns to me, "Quick, I think somebody's coming. Make it look like we're majorly into each other." Before I can process her words her lips are on mine and I kiss back. Gently though, I don't want her to guess that for me, it's more than some ''star-crossed lovers routine''. I can't tell if it's the same for her. If she does have feelings for me then she will never let on. Neither will I; the first person would be open to potential mocking and teasing from the other. After all, Beryl would never think that anybody cared for her like that.

If this turns into a game between the two of us, it's a game which I'm guaranteed to lose.

After a few minutes, she moves back and gives me a cheesy grin. I'm about to ask her why she had kissed me on her own accord but she laughs, "Just making sure that it appears like we're lovers." She just says while continuing to smile cheekily. Her voice is dismissive but something flashes across her eyes when she says those words.

"Of course, if you say so," My tone of voice is light as I smile back and start to get up but she holds out an arm to stop me.

"Don't go," She whispers, "Stay."

I look into her eyes which are fixated on me and find myself nodding in response, "If you don't slap me again." I reply.

She laughs a bit as she picks up her invention and places it on the table, "What even is that, anyway?" I ask.

"It's my latest invention," There's a note of pride in her voice as she says those words, "It's supposed to be a spy camera, but a portable one that can move around when you tell it to. I'm struggling with the voice-recognition device though." The skin around her forehead crinkles as she thinks about it, all traces of our previous conversation forgotten.

"Why on earth would you need that?"

She grins at me, "Well I could smuggle it into one of the backpacks at the Cornucopia and then whoever picks it up will be constantly monitored by me so I know all their plans and act on that." She's joking, I know. The Game-makers would never let her take in her weird spy-camera thing. It could be used as a weapon since you could knock out someone with it. It was certainly bulky enough. I grin back at her, "Yeah, I can totally see that working. Nobody's going to be suspicious of a large black thing in their backpack with a camera lens and a mass of wires attached to it."

"Shh, it's not done yet." She pulls back the covers of her bed and gets in. She's wearing a dark green crop top that hangs loosely off her body with a pair of chocolate brown shorts. She smiles at me temptingly while rubbing her thumb against the corner of the duvet, "Are you sleeping on the floor or here?" She asks.

I pull back the other side of the covers, "Definitely here."

Beryl gives me a knowing look, "I thought so." She wraps the covers around herself as I get undressed so I'm not wearing a top and get in the bed. It's not much of a hardship really. I wrap my arms around her as she leans into me. I can hear her breathing, gradually becoming slower and slower as she enters the recesses of sleep. As the first tendrils of sleep catch up with me, it's like I'm in paradise.

No nightmares haunt me this time.

...

"Up, up, u – what is going on here?" Trills Electra Wires, our escort.

Blearily, I yawn and start to stretch my arms before realising that they were still encasing Beryl. She was also just waking up and looked alarmed at the fact that our escort and Beetee were staring at us like we had grown two heads overnight. Zayna was nowhere to be seen.

I could see why they were staring at us though. I was half-naked and Beryl wasn't much better in terms of dress. The sheets weren't exactly well-made either.

Yeah, this probably looked really bad.

Beetee raises an eyebrow, "Any one of you two like to explain what you were doing last night? Or should I be saying 'who' you were doing?"

Beryl blushes slightly while I chuckle, "It's not what it looks like – " She starts off defensively.

"Yeah, we slept together last night." I interrupt without any attempts at being subtle, "Don't worry though, she's still a virgin."

"Adrian!" Electra scolds as Beetee laughs and Beryl quickly scrambles out of her bed, her face redder than a cherry tomato. She dashes over to her drawers and receives some practical-looking clothes. Today is training day, I guess. I decide to follow suit and get up, not caring that I was walking around with nothing but a pair of pants on. Electra's face is one of comical shock as I leave.

Pulling a top over my head usually means you can't see anything but whatever colour the top is. I guess that's how Beetee seems to magically materialise by my doorway,

"I'm presuming that you'll be continuing your romance with Beryl in public." Is the first words that he says when I'm fully dressed.

"I guess." I reply vaguely, smoothly getting up and walking over to leave my room. Beetee follows and proceeds to interrogate me. I respond with the vaguest answer that I can think of. I still haven't had breakfast yet.

"Have you two made an alliance yet?"

"No."

"So she's not a Career?"

"No."

"How are you two going to continue your routine in the arena if you're in different alliances?"

"We can have a long-distance relationship." I reply sarcastically, then realise I sound like Beryl. I open the door to the dining area and then stop as I take in all the food that's on the mahogany table. Polished red apples with grapes and all other sorts of fruit that I can't name in a bowl sit at one end of the table. At the other end is a massive chicken of some kind covered in a creamy sauce. In the middle is a truly amazing piece of cake. It's a regal blue colour with icing flowers and chocolates decorating every inch of it. It reminds me of the cakes you see at weddings, where it's always a metre of so high and covered in ribbons and other inedible decorations. The only flaw to the cake is the massive chunk that Beryl has taken out of it and shovelled in her mouth. Her table manners really do need some work. If Electra was here, oh wait she is.

Her skin is paper-white as she gapes, horrified at Beryl. Said tribute's mouth is covered in sponge and she's licking her fingers while smirking at Electra. Okay, she's never been properly taught to use a knife and fork, unless you were using a knife for target practice, but it's obvious she's rubbing it in for Electra's benefit. I roll my eyes as I grab a knife and fork, using them to take a slice of cake _the proper way._ Electra nods at me in approval before turning to Beryl, "You should learn from your District partner, he knows how to act like a proper citizen of the Capitol."

Beryl rolls her eyes, "We're not Capitol people though," She mumbles though a slice of cake. Well since she used her hands to get the cake, calling it a molehill of cake would be more accurate.

"Well you should act like it. I know you are from the barbaric Districts," Electra shudders while everyone else – Beetee included – glares at her. Like she would know what the Districts are like, "But at least act like you have been raised correctly. Anybody would think you were savages."

Beryl growls at Electra like she's a tiger before grabbing a fork, leaping up onto the table and promptly start dancing like a tribal warrior. She's none too careful about kicking the food over onto the floor. Or the others. I dive out of the way as the cake is sent toppling over. Then Beryl starts chanting and stamping her feet around on the table.

"We are the best," She sings, "So screw the rest. We do as we damn well please."

Then she finishes by driving the fork into the table where the cake used to stand. Electra gasps.

"That is mahogany!" She gasps in her affected Capitol accent.

Beryl appears to consider this for a second, then starts laughing like a demented girl.

"That is mahogany!" She mimics Electra like a audio tape then holds her stomach like it hurts as she rolls off the table.

Yeah, helping my best friend out was never an easy task.

...

" – and you need to improve your singing. That last line did not fit in with the rest of the lyrics. Honestly, this is basic elementary skills in the Capitol. You should know this by now."

Beryl – having lost her crazy persona – scowled as Electra drilled her on how to act in public, as well as how to sing. I would be glaring as well but I was trying to appear mild-mannered and not easily angered. It seemed to be working, with my escort anyway.

"Well here are the elevators," Electra chimes, "I've done my best with this thing but it's up to her now." Beryl clenches her fists and this time I don't bother holding back the glare sent at Electra. Beryl was not a 'thing'. She was a person, like Electra. Well Electra didn't look or act much like one but she was. I think. When Electra and Beetee had left, Beryl opened her mouth to say something but the opening of the elevator doors stopped her. Inside were most of the twenty-two other tributes that were my competition. As you can imagine, it was a tight fit. I try and assess who I am going to be fighting soon. Most of the boys were smaller and less muscular than I was, aside from Felix, Falcon and the District Six boy, Flint. I made a note to look out for him. As for the girls, Heliotrope towered over me. A somewhat impressive feat as I was over six feet tall.

Nobody was saying anything to each other as we descended, although I noticed a few glares exchanged between the Six tributes, while the Seven tributes were checking out the other tributes intently and Felix was checking out Beryl in a slightly different manner to the District Seven tributes. A sneer was on his face.

Beryl was not put out in the slightest. In fact, there was a wicked grin on her face. Felix notices this and just before we were due to get out of the elevator, he pushes the other tributes out of the way as he tries to corner Beryl. She doesn't move and just looks into his eyes, that grin still on her face. It's apparent that Beryl still isn't fazed, despite the fact that Felix towers over her and that he's capable of snapping her neck with his bare hands. He leans down to whisper something into her ear. Although I doubt whatever he said could be taken as a joke, she just laughs,

"Like I'm going to give you a chance. But since I'm nice, I brought you a present."

He looks slightly interested, "Oh really? And what would that be?"

Her grin widens and as soon as the doors open, she reaches into her pocket, brings out some mashed-up cake that she must have saved from breakfast and shoves it right in Felix's face.

"Happy Birthday!" She shouts as she sprints out of the elevator.

Felix looks absolutely enraged for a second, then shoves the District Eight girl over as he runs after Beryl. Profanities are spewing from his mouth as he does this. Meanwhile, I'm mentally trying to remember what size coffin Beryl would need. There's no way she's going to last long if she keeps doing stuff like this.

Helping my best friend out was never an easy task but nobody had ever said it would be. Most would write her off as a lost cause but I'll keep trying. I couldn't give up now.


	9. Rise of the Anti Careers

**The 79th Hunger Games  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)  
**

Chapter Eight

**_Felix Wilds, _**

**_District Two,_**

I have had it up to here with that brat from Three. Was she making it her personal mission to upstage me?

Firstly she has the audacity to volunteer for the Hunger Games. A girl from District Three. Such a thing was unheard of. It happens in the same year that I was competing in as well. Then she refuses to join the Careers like it was an invitation to any old alliance. Does she even consider the offer for a second? No, she immediately turned down my (rather generous) offer as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Just a few hours after she does that, she stabs me in the eyes with high-heels. High-heels! Out of all the weapons that she could have used and she picks high-heels. The fact that my weapon – the sword – could have knocked her out with one good swing didn't seem to deter her in the least. And that was only her warming up, it seems, when her stylists' decided that having fireworks erupting from their outfits was a good idea for attracting the attention of sponsors. And it got their attention all right. You couldn't even see me and Xenia in the re-caps of the chariot rides. Now a good portion of the sponsors that should be helping me were going over to the District Three tributes.

And today, she decides that throwing cake in my face was a smart move. Well I was going to teach her just how wrong she was. I hadn't signed up for some fifteen-year old from a lower District to screw around with me. Wasn't the fact that I was going to kill her a good deterrent from messing with me?

It obviously wasn't a good enough one. Well I'd like to see her act so confident when I catch up with her. Let's see little Beryl prance around the place when her nose was nothing but a squashed mess, shall we?

Ha ha, she wouldn't be prancing anywhere when I crushed her legs. I imagined her screams of pain, so different from the squeals of delight she was making now.

If she had any family, I was going to kill them when this was over. The thought of having more people related to this girl here was an unbearable one. And I was going to make it my job to stamp out annoying, defiant and smart-ass little rebels like her.

She laughs again and as soon as I wipe the cake from my eye, I can see her perched on one of the highest 'tree branches' in the climbing station. I stop and grin maliciously at her. Climbing might be a useful skill but the Game-makers didn't like it when a tribute tries to run away. Fleeing only helped you for so long.

Where the hell did she learn to climb in District Three anyway? It's hardly a utopia of nature. Well it's not like it really mattered so I don't bother pursuing this. The point was that she could climb. Who cared about the how?

"You can't stay up there forever." I decide to point out.

"You don't say," She replies sarcastically, "I thought I could pretend to be a bird, make a nest and sleep here for the night."

"Don't act all smart with me. As soon as I get up there, you'll wish you were a bird. They can fly and you can't."

"Bring it," With this challenge hanging fresh in the air, she starts climbing again and I follow. The instructor says nothing during this. He was probably thinking that I wouldn't be able to catch Beryl. And climbing after a tribute wasn't technically against the rules, although I doubted I would be able to catch her. No harm in trying though.

Climbing wasn't really a skill considered important by the academies of District Two so I wasn't as fast or swift as she must have been. After a few minutes of climbing I'm in reach of her ankles when she smirks at me and jumps up onto the rafters in the roof. Yes, that's how high up I was and it was obvious that I wouldn't be following. She might dart and jump and weave though those rafters like a cat but I was not so skilled when it came to climbing. I was also considerably heavier than she was, since I actually got enough to eat back home. If I fell to the ground from here, I could break something and that wasn't really something I wanted to do.

Damn her.

"You might have won now," I shout, "But you better be watching your back because I'm going to get you when you least expect it."

"Oh please, that's such a cliché line," She has to shout as she's halfway across the training room at this stage. Her voice is distant but is just as infuriating, "Not like I was expecting any different from you." She tosses back her hair contemptuously.

Beryl opens her mouth to continue but then she's distracted by the sound of clapping. I look down to see most of the tributes watching us.

Judging by the lack of tributes working at any station but here, it looks like _all _the tributes were watching. Watching _me_ be upstaged by _her._

The clapping isn't coming from the Careers. No, they look irritated at the tributes from the other Districts. Every single one of them is clapping.

Her District partner isn't though. Instead he's casting worried-looking glances between my prey and me.

Good, he was definitely a smart boy. Nobody messed with me and got away with it.

_She's messed around with you four times now._

Instead of listening to that thought, I glare down at the rest of the tributes who are still clapping appreciatively at my enemy from the technology district. Like they cared about her.

When I had finished climbing down, the tributes still hadn't dispersed.

"What?" I snap at them, mentally deciding which ones to add to my hit-list. At this moment in time, I was still making up my mind. None of them were cringing back in fear. No, all of them were standing their ground. Safety in numbers, right?

The girl tribute from Six and both tributes from Seven step forwards. I focus on them as they obviously were preparing for a proposition.

"Doesn't look like the Career pack are particularly threatening this year." The Six girl starts. It's ironic that she's calling us non-threatening because she looks like she couldn't hurt a fly. She might be tall, with a pair of high boots to boost and a stubborn expression on her face, but her stick-thin figure and permanently round eyes made me judge her as being the complete opposite of 'threatening'. The girl runs a hand though her long, blonde hair while lifting her chin to look down on us.

"It appears they are not." The Seven girl echoes fervently, glancing at her District partner who nods slightly.

The blonde one then turns around to face the other tributes, "So, we invite you to join our alliance. The anti-Career alliance. I think the name should say it all about our primary purpose. Every single one of you is entitled to join us to defeat the Career pack," She spits the last two words, "And actually let a decent person win the Hunger Games this year."

Her words ring though the hall as everyone just stares at her. The only sound you can hear is the slight scuffle of feet as the Three girl descents downwards. Eventually the bloodbaths from Eight say, "We'll join." The two of them make their way so that they stand next to the three idiots from Six and Seven. The boy from Seven smiles in welcome at them while the Six girl makes eye contact with every other tribute, "Would anyone else like to join us?" Her voice is calm, yet certain, as if she feels that every single tribute would rush over to join.

A few mutters are heard before five more tributes – both representatives from Five and Ten join, along with the Eleven boy. As I try and digest this, the tributes from District Twelve are quick to follow the Eleven boy. Then more and more tributes are joining until the vast majority of the twenty-four appear to be in the alliance.

I stare at the crowd of tributes who are all in the same alliance. From here, I can't even count the precise number that have joined. That's how many of them there were. Easily enough to outnumber my alliance, I knew that much.

Thankfully, not every tribute had decided to join. The pregnant slut from Eleven is rolling her eyes and eyeing the Careers speculatively. If she thought she had a chance of joining, now would definitely be a good time to ask. Even the five of us couldn't all hope to win a battle when the odds were almost 3:1 at the moment. I'd better get the Four tributes to join us as soon as possible.

The tributes from Nine look at the tributes who have decided to join scornfully while the Six boy is outright glaring at his District partner. Falcon and Annabel are motionless as the events unfold.

Beryl hasn't made any move towards them but she's not exactly jumping at the chance to be a Career either. Probably still thinks I'm going to kill her.

Well I will eventually but with at least half of the tributes in a mass alliance it would be stupid to let her join them.

Andrew, my fellow Career from District One, snorts at the remaining seven tributes that stand alone, "You are seriously not considering joining those idiots, are you?"

"We're already in an alliance." The Nine girl – Bailey, I think – replies flatly, gesturing to her District partner before walking off together towards the knives station. Well that suits me just fine, except that the two of them look like they know how to handle throwing a knife. I guess being from the hunting district does have its advantages.

A thudding sound indicates that Beryl is now actually touching the floor of the training station. Cautiously, she walks towards the area where the Four tributes, the Six boy and the Eleven girl are still standing. I can feel her gaze boring into me as she does so. She didn't have to worry yet, attacking her now would only secure her a place in the anti-Career alliance.

I turn around and she jumps slightly but holds her ground. Brown eyes meet golden-green as she stares steadily at me. Before I can convince her that I'm not going to attack, the girl from Seven interferes.

"What about you, Beryl?" Beryl's eyebrows raise slightly at this but she says nothing, "You can't want any of them to win, can you?" The Seven girl's voice trembles slightly as she says, "Careers are nothing but Neanderthals. They don't deserve to live."

Beryl's face may have been slightly indecisive before that but when the girl had finished spouting her anti-Career speech, I watch as Beryl's features mould themselves into a iron mask of determination. She's still staring at me as she speaks. I have a funny feeling that she's talking about my alliance as well as she continues.

"Careers aren't Neanderthals," She says, "They're just misguided, like this alliance seems to be. Just because you have the most tributes doesn't mean that they're the most skilled or most likely to win," In a mocking tone, she adds, "Maybe me, Flint and Hayley should make an alliance," She smirks at the two other loners who have no alliance whatsoever, "We'd totally kick the stuffing out of your alliances." Flint sniggers at this while the District Eleven girl smiles. Most of the 'anti-Career' pack were glaring at Beryl. Clearly they were counting on her to join since it didn't look like she was welcome in the Career pack. It was her fault that she wasn't. As well as defying me, she had also pushed Heliotrope over in the elevators when she and her District partner were trying to intimidate the Eleven girl. At least that was what Andrew had told me.

The Seven boy walked over to her along with a few other scrawny-looking tributes. He gets all in her personal space, which I can tell irritates her, and looks at her from head to toe, "Do you think that you'll be able to defeat all of us?" He spreads his hands out to include his alliance, "Nobody's that good at fighting."

Beryl crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him, "You'll be too busy getting your asses handed to you by those guys," She waves an arm at my alliance, "To be worrying about what me, Flint or Hayley are doing." Turning around, she struts off confidently over to the bow and arrows station. Flint starts throwing weights around like they're nothing while Hayley starts to climb the same obstacle that I had chased Beryl up earlier, abet with less speed and grace. Xenia bares her teeth in a admittedly scary-looking grin that makes a few of the opposing side pale. Well they would obviously be no contest.

Content that my allies would scare most of the weaklings that had joined the doomed alliance, I make my way over to Falcon and his eyes meet mine. He's the first to speak,

"What do you want?"

I ignore the threatening tone in his voice and reply casually, "Just wondering if you were going to join the Career alliance, that's all."

He looks at me suspiciously, "You're going to hurt her." He jerks his head at Annabel who is looking at me wide-eyed.

I smile, "Not if you join. There's no sense in attacking our own allies, is there?"

I can see him thinking this over. He doesn't exactly strike me as the smartest person, which is fine by me, "District One are going to hurt her."

I recall Xenia telling me that Andrew was insulting and threatening Annabel and I'm struggling to think of a reply when the two Careers join me and take over.

"Oh we didn't really mean that." Heliotrope gives Annabel a sugary sweet smile while saying her words in a dismissive tone.

"I'm sure we can get over the fact that we started off on the wrong foot," Andrew gives a false charming smile and outstretches his hand, "Hey there, I'm Andrew. What's your name, sweetheart?"

A pair of dull green eyes look up from a mop of brown hair, "Annabel." She tentatively shakes Andrew's hand and I can see Falcon relax. That's good. All I have to do is make sure Annabel trusts me and then Falcon will think I mean her well. I continue to keep a smile on my face, "It's great to see that we're getting along now." I leave without warning, leaving the One tributes to coerce the other two into joining the Careers. I hope they can actually manage this simple task. They should be able to, if District One were good for anything, it was charming and flattering people.

I look around for another potential target and notice the girl from Three. I follow Beryl to the archery station, where she is struggling to shoot the arrow anywhere near the bullseye. It's obvious what she is doing wrong – what idiot stands facing forward when using a bow? The instructor is trying to tell her this but all he's getting back is a stream of mocking comments, sarcasm and insults.

"You're using that wrong." I inform her after the instructor throws up his hands in frustration. This earns me a glare as she releases another arrow. It falls a few metres short of the target and ends up on the floor.

Ignoring me, she starts notching another arrow.

"Are you even listening to your instructor?" Clearly not, as the instructor is looking at me wearily, "Stand sideways." When she still doesn't listen, I grab her by the waist and turn her so that she's in the correct position. I then direct her arms and hands so that she's actually holding the bow correctly, "Now try it."

"I don't need your help." She snarls as she releases the arrow. This time it hits the target, several centimetres from the bullseye. Definitely impressive for a first-timer.

"Shame you haven't had any training, you could have been a natural with these by now." I remark, wondering if she'll inadvertently give away any clues that will tell me if she is trained or not.

She looks slightly uncomfortable, "Just luck, I guess." She mutters evasively. In a louder voice she asks, "Why are you helping me anyway?"

"Well you looked like you needed the help." I reply.

She rolls her eyes, "Yes, because you are all about helping others."

"Your sarcasm isn't appreciated."

"Your – " I give her a hard look and she shuts up. Smugly, I continue, "So you do know when to shut up. I was beginning to worry."

She yawns and stretches her arms, "What do you want, Felix? I doubt you came here just to see me," She throws the bow and arrows at me, "If you're going to show off, feel free to _try_ and intimidate me." I notice the scepticism in her voice.

I notch an arrow and fire it. To my dismay, it's even further from the bullseye than Beryl's arrow. Provided, a bow isn't my weapon of choice but I've had years of training compared to this girl and she still manages to beat me? This is a open invitation for Beryl to mock me.

"Wow, I'm terrified." Sarcasm drips off that sentence as she watches, amused, "I don't know how I'll ever be able to survive in the arena with you around."

Fed up of her constant snark, I shove her into the rack where the arrows are lined up. What she should have done was fall onto the rack but instead she only stumbles slightly before regaining her composure. Despite her appearance, she's not clumsy or as unskilled as I thought. She's also glaring at me, which is not that surprising. Now she's sure to join the anti-Careers. If she didn't before, she probably hates my guts now.

I instantly regret shoving her over, which is rare for me. However I know she isn't the standard District Three tributes, which is also rare.

"Watch out, we have a bad ass over here." She spits before walking away. However I have one last request for her before she goes. Grabbing her arm, I spin her around so that she's facing me.

"Listen up," I whisper quietly, "Don't try and act like you can't handle a weapon because I know you can," Rolling her eyes, she opens her mouth to object but I stop her, "Not many people shoot that close to the bullseye if they hadn't used a bow before. I might not know how you got access to one and I don't really care but I know that I want you in my alliance. I doubt a bow and arrows are the only thing you're good at. If you join now, you have my word that the other Careers won't touch you. I bet your boyfriend will be happy to help me with that." Then I try to give her a genuine smile but I doubt that she'll fall for it. Because if she says yes, then I'll guarantee that she'll be the first Career dead. Does she really think that I've just forgiven her for what she's done? Of course I'm not going to kill her straight away. It's too obvious and besides, where's the fun in that?

I don't even care about the fact that I might be wrong, that she might be completely incompetent with all the weapons here. If I am, then she'll still die anyway. It'll just be easier for me. I know that a bow and arrows are not her preferred weapon – if she has one, that is. I saw the surprise flicker across her face when the arrow hit the area around the bullseye and decide that she had managed that like she said she had. By pure luck. I didn't really want to think about how that luck would help her in the arena. I also didn't particularly want to think about the fact that her luck could mean my downfall.

Like last time, she doesn't even spare one moment in considering my offer before spitting out, "I don't care if President Snow himself begs me to join, me and you are never going to be in the same alliance."

"So the only reason you're not joining is because I'm with the Careers as well." I try and make sense of her logic, if she actually uses any logic.

Beryl pretends to consider this for a moment, "Not really but you're not making the option seem very appealing either."

Now that was something not very many woman said to me, "And why is that?" My voice is deliberately calm.

"Where do I start?" She pauses to think for a minute, stroking a finger against her chin. Well I think she's thinking but she might just be doing that for dramatic effect, "Felix, you're a insane Career from Two who is willing to kill anyone who annoys him. You've already tried knocking me out with a sword and chased me up the climbing station tree and I barely did anything."

I have to admit, I admire her boldness in saying that, "You punched me, attacked me with high-heels," I glare at her when saying that, "And threw cake at me for no reason." Honestly, does she think that I just decide to add her to my hit-list for no reason? She's no damsel in distress.

Why was it that Beryl always made an effort to put me in a bad mood?

"Yeah, that's nothing Felix. Just wait until I get into the arena, you'll love me then, although I bet you already do now." When she says love, she means hate. It's obvious by the way she exaggerates the word.

"I do hate you." I growl.

She gives me a confused look, "Then why are you asking me to join your alliance then, if you hate me?"

"Because you're a asset. You'll benefit the group and I'll make sure you benefit from joining. Did you think I let Adrian join because I liked him?" I'm nearly spitting the words at her now. I decide to mention the fact that her District partner was in the same alliance she was rejecting to see if this had any affect on her.

"What part of no is too difficult for you to understand? The N or the O?" She asks irritatedly. Evidently her District partner has had no affect on her own choices. But it is Beryl's obnoxiousness that makes me clench my fists and swing an arm at her face. She moves to the side but my fist still punches her cheek hard. Recovering quickly, she flicks her curl out of the way and glares at me. Looks like this little girl isn't backing down.

I lunge for her again but she moves out of the way and swings a fist at my head. It connects with my head snapping back. However this leaves her off-balance for a few seconds and while she's regaining her balance, I grab her arm, the one she used to punch me with, and drag her down to the floor. However, she used her other hand to yank at my wrist and, surprised at this, I tumble to the floor with her. Quickly, before she can recover, I use my free hand to grip her ankle. I grab her hair with my other hand and pull her up to her knees with me. Meanwhile her flailing hands find an arrow on the nearby rack that I shoved her into and before I know what she's doing, she plunges the arrow into my wrist.

The arrow doesn't dig in too deeply but my surprise means I let go. It's that same surprise that means I miss her fist flying until she punches me in the nose. I grab the arm that punched me and use it so she's pulled in closer. Before she can do anything, I put my other hand on her wrist and snap it. Although it's effortless for me – like snapping a twig – the involuntary gasp of pain she gives mean that the consequences for her are a little more serious than that of a branch. Well actually, since one of my arms has an arrow in it, using it to break someone's wrist sends a jolt of pain though me and I grit my teeth as pain engulfs me. Beryl is probably feeling the same way.

This doesn't stop Beryl's other hand slapping me. She quickly darts her uninjured hand away. My left hand still has her broken wrist and – smiling meanly at her all the while – I slowly apply pressure to it. She bites her lip to keep herself from making any sounds of pain. Suddenly I'm pulled away from her and she whimpers slightly as her arm is released. Beryl clutches it protectively while white gloved hands restrain me and pull me up onto my feet. I struggle but one of them kicks me in the knees. I scowl at my legs collapse under me, rendered useless. While they do this, the Peace-keepers start to cart me and Beryl off. I have an arrow in my wrist and my nose is starting to bleed while Beryl's arm is hanging limply. She's trying not to jostle it around too much lest she move the broken bone in her wrist. All the other tributes are staring at us and I give each of them a glare as we pass, surrounded by Peace-keepers as I was.

I doubted that we were going to be let off lightly for this.

...

"Are you deaf, or did not not hear the instructions specifying that there will be _no fighting _between tributes before the Hunger Games start?" The guy who seems to be in charge of the Peace-keepers in the Capitol snaps at us.

An hour or two later, it is in this room that the Head Peace-keeper is now shouting at me and Beryl. There is now a cast on her arm and a cast that restricts my movements on mine. We're also hand-cuffed to a chair by our ankles as well as one arm. Our injured arms, just to be sure. My other hand is holding a tissue to my nose. I'm wondering when they'll let me get back to winning the Games like I'm supposed to. It's not great for my patience levels. Beryl just looks bored.

"I don't see a problem. We'll be killing each other in a few days anyway." Beryl says. The Head Peace-keeper grits his teeth.

"This is training," He snaps, "You are not performing the moves you learn in the arena yet."

She scoffs, "This is training," She mimics the Peace-keeper, "You are not performing the moves yet," Her voice goes hard, "You make this sound like a dancing rehearsal. We're fighting for our lives here."

"Are we being locked up for this?" I ask quickly, before the Head Peace-keeper can reply to Beryl. I hope not – how was I supposed to achieve my lifetime wish from a prison cell? Beryl rolls her eyes at me.

"To follow standard procedure, you will miss the rest of today's training session." He informs me, much to my displeasure. None of the tributes will learn to fear me as much as they should be now, "You cannot disobey the rules and expect to not bear the consequences. Now, which one of you two started this brawl?"

We glare at each other. I don't know why she's glaring at me; if she wasn't so stubborn and just join the damn Career alliance then none of this would have happened. It's her fault.

"Beryllium?"

"Beryl." She snaps at the Head Peace-keeper. So she doesn't like being called Beryllium. I noted this for later when I was going to torture her.

"Alright, _Beryl."_

"What?" She asks in a almost-exact replica of the Head Peace-keeper's voice. I'm struck by her blatant lack of respect for her superiors. Then I realise that her lack of respect is how she ended up in that chair. Did she have any fear in her?

"Records indicate that you were the most likely suspect for starting the fight."

"Your records are obviously wrong then," She says, then adds, "Wait, what records?"

"Your criminal records, to be precise. It's not the shortest one I've ever seen, Miss Streep. In fact, I feel that – "

"You have a criminal record?" I ask her, astounded. Beryl Streep, fifteen-year old girl, have a criminal record? What the hell did she do?

She just looks at me dead-pan, "Yes dumbass, I have a criminal record. Is this news to you?"

I smirk at her, "You're not the innocent but annoying little flower everyone makes you out to be."

"Since when do I come across as an innocent little flower?"

"Ever since you chose to face certain death to save that twelve-year old girl from entering the Hunger Games, possibly?"

"No, that just makes me look selfless and awesome." I'm pretty sure that if she could, she would toss her hair back while shooting me a confident smile. Minus one of her arms to move her hair back with or pose or whatever, she just smiles.

"Really? Because I don't think you're any of those things."

"That's because you hate me." She taunts in a sing-song voice. She makes that sound like a bad thing.

The Head Peace-keeper interrupts our conversation, "Felix, your record isn't exactly spotless either." He says in a criticising voice but you get the impression that he likes the fact that we don't adhere strictly to the rules. It makes for more drama.

I don't care. Actually, I'm hoping he'll read out some of the things listed on there. Beryl wasn't going to mess with me after she looked at it. Not after she finds out just why you don't want to make your way onto my hit-list. However, the Head Peace-keeper turns to Beryl, "But hers is stunning for someone her age. Didn't her parents ever teach her any manners?" Beryl gives the Head Peace-keeper a _you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me _look as he continues, "Assaulting a Peace-keeper for starters. Several times."

"That was self-defence. They were going to shoot me."

The Head Peace-keeper glares at her and she shuts up, "I'm sure they would have had an excellent reason for doing so. That's not the only time that you've given the Peace-keepers a hard time. Vandalism, theft, destroying the Peace-keeper apartments and warehouses – "

"When have I ever vandalised anything?" Beryl asks, ignoring the other, more serious crimes on her repertoire while I look her up-and-down. She certainly doesn't look like a criminal.

Her question earns her another glare, "Your latest stunt, however, really doesn't help your case at all. Destroying an important part, an important building of your District – "

"Oh please, the Justice Building isn't that amazing. It needed redesigning. I mean, who uses the whole Greek pillar thing? It's seriously out of place among District Three." While she continues to ramble on about the Victorian design of her District clashing with the Greek theme of the Justice Building, I'm thinking though what she's said. It doesn't seem like she has any rules binding her. She's used to doing whatever she likes and doesn't care about the consequences. A rebel without a cause.

That also explains the massive pillar of smoke you could see during her Reapings. Why she blew up the Justice Building remains a mystery.

"That's not all, Miss Streep," The Head Peace-keeper derails Beryl's thoughts on architecture. It also appears he's changed the way he addresses us, "I do believe that mur – "

"He started it," She blurts out before he can complete his statement. I've already guessed what he was going to say though. Murder.

Looks like I'm not the only person who has skeletons in their closet before the Games have even started. This was news to me. I observe her closely. She doesn't seem proud of the fact that she's killed before. I doubt she's going to flaunt this around either. She probably regrets it.

Another thing to taunt her about when I get her in the Games.

"Oh did he?" Our captor raised an eyebrow, "Mr Wilds," I scowl at being referred to by something so formal, "Did you or did you not attack Miss Streep – "

"Could you just call us by our first names?" Beryl interjects loudly, "Really, is Felix and Beryl too conventional for you?"

After he glares at Beryl, he continues, "Felix, did you or did you not attack Beryl," He looks at her pointedly, "First in the training room?"

Much as it was entertaining hearing about Beryl's past offences, I did want to get back to the normal scheme of things as we knew it, "Fine, I punched her first. But it's her fault, she shouldn't have offended me."

Beryl just looks at me sceptically, then laughs. It's a slightly deranged laugh but it still annoys me. The Head Peace-keeper is just grinning at my confession before getting up and leaving. No way. He was just going to leave us here? Damn it, I was missing training here.

"This is your fault," I snarl at Beryl, trying to work my way out of the hand-cuffs with little success.

Her eyes hold nothing but scorn for me as she struggles to free herself, "No, if anyone's to blame, it's you. If you didn't want to be here, you should have just left me alone. Of course, that's just too difficult for little you, isn't it?" I grit my teeth at the patronising use of the word little. That happened to be the word I used when dealing with her. Now it was the other way around, "Well I guess I'll be seeing your Grand Highness later." I was busy with my own handcuffs but she's managed to break her way out of hers. Beryl gives me a curtsey to add to her mocking words.

Seriously? She has one arm out of commission and she still manages to break free? My day was not going well when this happened.

"You can't just leave me here." I point out in a unintentionally petulant voice as she starts to walk towards the door.

"Watch me." Is her response as she continues to move. However I grip her shoulder with my free arm, dropping the tissue I had been holding up to my nose until that moment. Beryl writhes around, trying to break free, but I have a tight grip on her. I try and pull her so she's on my lap and she glares furiously at me, "Let go." She hisses.

"I'll let you go," I pause, waiting for hope to flare up in her eyes but she looks at me patiently instead. She's not fooled, "I'll let you go if you undo my handcuffs for me."

"Oh yeah?" She replies venomously, struggling all the while, "Give me one good reason why I should."

I tighten my grip on her shoulder, "Because I'm going to kill you in the arena, little girl," I hiss, "How you act now will determine just how quick I make your death. Now if you don't – " I don't get to say much more as she brings her teeth down on my arm. I shout out in pain and let go of her. She's by the door and away from me in an instant while I'm glaring daggers at her.

"Later, loser." Giving me a mock salute, she walks out of the door like nothing has happened.

I cannot believe this. That pathetic girl from Three just leaves me chained up here. On my own. And she bites me. No really, her teeth marks are still on my arm. What is she, a vampire or something? Part of me, the angry side of me, wants to slam her into a wall and break the rest of her skinny little arm. Another side of me, however, feels something that is almost foreign to me – respect.

Well how many of the other tributes here are brave – or stupid – enough to face the most strongest, powerful and attractive tribute here? I don't see Andrew, Heliotrope, Adrian or the District Four tributes attacking me. I immediately dismiss the thought of Xenia even thinking of trying to attack me. Like everyone else is, she's scared of me. Even more than the others. She knows what I'm capable of.

Also, the way Beryllium just strolls out of here like having her wrist snapped and escaping out of handcuffs is everyday business is impressive. She's actually sort of hot, in a bad-ass kind of way. Too bad she has to be so defiant because I wouldn't have minded her as a Career. Although I know better than to ask her again. I dab the tissue at my nose, remembering how she had punched me. If she acted like this back at District Three, no wonder the Peace-keepers hated her. I could see why.

Earning my hatred was not a good idea. Just ask around District Two. They knew not to mess with me.

And sooner or later, this little girl was going to find out just why that was.

As soon as I was out of these handcuffs, that was.


	10. Training, Take Two

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games :)  
**

Chapter Nine

**_Beryl Streep, _**

**_District Three,_**

Walking into the training room and watching the expressions on the Game-makers faces change from smug to shocked was priceless. Mouths open, glasses shattering as they dropped them, disbelief evident on their faces.

If only I had a camera.

The other tributes are too busy staring interestedly at the cast on my arm to care about the fact that I had escaped from being hand-cuffed to a chair in a slightly-less dramatic rendition of a prison escape. Hopefully the Capitol would make sure my arm would function before the Games began. It would seriously suck if my left hand was stuck in a cast and therefore useless. If that was the case, it was a good thing I was right-handed.

What wasn't so priceless was the head instructor walking over to me. Since he had nothing in his hands, I'm guessing he was going to lecture and not capture me. Like handcuffs were going to stop me.

"Miss Streep, are you authorised to continue training?" I'm guessing the pompous use of my last name was something the Capitol people did on a regular basis.

"Mr Instructor," I ask in his voice as it appears to annoy people when I copy them and it's fun watching people get agitated, "Are you unauthorised to use my first name? You can call me Beryl, you know."

As I wanted, his jaw clenches slightly at my impersonation of him, "Are you authorised to continue training?" He just repeats in a robotic monotone which I cannot resist copying since he's trying and failing so hard to not sound annoyed.

"Yes sir, I am authorised to continue training sir." I stamp my feet against the floor, stand up straight and look ahead while pretending to be a clone of the instructor. I consider adding a military salute but don't bother. Immature I might be acting but at least I was having fun. They were sending me off to die in a few days, may as well leave a lasting impression. And have fun while doing that, of course.

He sniffs at me, "According to the information that I have, you should be locked up with the District Two male in the holding centre." Was it too much for them to actually bother learning our names? Since twenty-two or three of us would die soon for outdated crimes we had no part in, I could see why they didn't extend the effort.

I see how it is now. As if I didn't already. On another matter: the Capitol have a holding centre? I thought that room was only being used as a temporary prison for tributes. This makes me wonder how many other tributes have been in trouble before. Probably not that many – nobody really needs to try and kill other tributes now when it'll be perfectly fine to try in the arena.

I sniff back, "Well evidently I have been released and authorised to continue my training back here." I use as many long and impressive-sounding words as possible so it sounds more official. It doesn't fool him so I add, "Surely you can't be proposing that I managed to evade the fine security in your holding compartments to make my way back here, are you?" By this, I mean evading the handcuffs and unlocked door. The 'holding compartments' are like, ten metres away from the training centre. In fact, I'm surprised the other tributes didn't hear the Head Peace-keeper shouting at me and Felix.

He pursues his way-too-puffy lips at me but says nothing. If he did, it would either imply that their security is crap or that I'm just too good for them. Probably the first one. I mean, how difficult is it to break those cheap handcuffs? I could have probably just snapped them in two and I'm no She-Hulk. Actually, since Felix is way stronger than I am, I'm half-expecting him to come storming though and make another attempt to punch me. Thankfully, neither of those things happen. The head instructor looks disdainfully at me before strutting off towards wherever the important instructor people go to.

I turn back to the training to find myself face-to-face with Lily, the girl from District Eight, I think. She's staring at the cast on my hand, like everyone has and I use that hand to wave it in her face before pointing at my own, "Yes, hello? My face is here." It's a good thing that they've scheduled me to have my arm fixed up after training was finished because going into the arena with only one functioning hand was definitely a weakness. Couldn't have that, what with all the Careers and everything.

She blushes slightly, "Sorry, it's just that not many people stand up to the Careers like that. That was really cool." She gestures over to the station where me and Felix fought while blushing. I wonder if this is what celebrities feel like when interviewed by fans.

I raise an eyebrow, "I'll take this as a compliment."

She gives me a massive smile, "I guessed you might," I say nothing, wondering if she has anything else to say. She does, "So, erm, can I ally with you?" She asks, sounding more awkward than when I had to wear that dress for the chariots. As usual, my mind goes back to something off-topic to alliances. Aka, how my prep team had forced me into the dress. Yeah, forced.

"_Are you ready to see your new dress, honey-bunny?"_

_Honey-bunny? That was a unbelievably lame endearment. Surely even the Capitolites wouldn't use it, right? Evidently not._

"_My name is Beryl." I snap, satisfaction running though me as they cower back. Guess being a tribute had some perks after all. 'They' is referring to my two members of the District Three girl prep team and my stylist. I thought the average prep team number was three but I don't mind. One less annoying voice to listen to. They aren't nice enough to give me their names so I had to make some up. The tall girl with the erratic sparkly blue dress, skin dyed to match and a shock of silver-blue hair I'll name Sparkles. Literally, under the spotlights she's like a star. An extremely tacky star but still. Her colleague has green skin and shiny black eyes which are quite disturbing to look at. Her hat has springs erupting from it and she looks like one of those cartoon aliens you occasionally see on TV. For this reason, I've named her Alien. My stylist – aside from some neon pink eye-liner – looks almost normal. I don't have a nickname for her yet but since she's the one who called me 'honey-bunny', I'll come to the conclusion that she's either exceptionally stupid or exceptionally evil._

"_Okay, Meryl," The alien girl chirps, obviously mishearing my name, "Your dress is here." All of them sound excited about this dress and I hope it's nothing like the dresses they wear. Sparkles' dress (which is also sparkly, as expected) is several inches about her knees and plunges down into her extremely fake cleavage while Alien's dress is a bright green thing that is so wide it would probably knock pedestrians over while walking on a pavement. The evil stylist is wearing a long flowing red dress which is also very revealing. If I have to wear anything like that... _

_I was still fuming about the fact that it was a dress but when I actually saw it for the first time, my jaw dropped._

_It's not really a dress, it's more of a skimpy bikini. Actually, calling it a bikini was a overstatement. The top half of the almost-dress is basically a bikini top with some shreds of fabric falling down to my ribs. The whole thing is transparent aside from the excessive amounts of glitter sprayed onto it. For the first and hopefully last time in my life, I am glad they decided to put glitter on my costume. I might as pour a bucket of water onto me otherwise for all the good the top would do covering me up. The bottom half of the dress-thing is a thong made from the same material as the top with a few inches of glittery fabric covering it up. Despite my hopes, it puts my prep team's dresses to shame in the worst way possible._

_I silently hope and pray that it's not going to be too breezy outside or else I might as well take off the whole dress and roll around in glitter. Wait, I shouldn't say that out loud or they might just consider doing that._

_Naturally, I say the first thing that comes to mind, "Oh, _hell_ to the no, I ain't wearing that. What is this, District One?"_

_Sparkles looks offended and I wonder if she was demoted from the District I just insulted. It's entirely plausible since District One make the sparkly pointless stuff you see so often in the Capitol. It would explain her excessive sparkliness, even though that's not even a word, "It's to represent the theme of a diamond amongst the rough. Since District Three tributes usually wouldn't be able to pull this work of art off."_

_A work of art? You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me, "And you're saying that I can? I'm fifteen years old, not twenty." I neglect to tell them that I wouldn't wear that even if I was twenty. What was I, a whore?_

_Sparkles sniffs, "We can do this the nice way or the hard way." She threatens, coming towards me with an arsenal of glittering make-up in hand. Before she can get anywhere close, I aim a outstretched hand at her trachea. Hard. The force of it sends her stumbling a few steps backwards, "I'll take the hard way, thanks." I say as I make a mad dash for the doors, naked and as pink as a plucked chicken, except I was still alive. For now. Slamming though the doors, I hope – in a perverse way – that someone is filming this. It would look awesome, apart from me being nude, of course._

_Where's the 007 theme song when you need it for a daring escape?_

My 'daring escape' lasted three minutes before they stunned me – the daring streaker – with electric guns and dressed me while unconscious. That thought makes me really uncomfortable, them being around me while naked and unconscious. When I woke up I looked like I had been mauled by a bear while clubbing, minus the scratches and blood and horrific wounds a bear would inflict on me. Seriously, my dress looked like it had been dragged though a thorn bush repeatedly until it was unfit to be called a dress.

An insistent tapping on my shoulder indicates that Lily is waiting for me to say something, "Huh?" I ask in my usual eloquent way.

"Alliance?" She sounds impatient. Jeez, someone's a bit pushy.

I raise an eyebrow and repeat my thought of her impatient question. She sighs loudly, "I'm sorry but I've been trying to get your attention for ages. Well not ages, but five seconds. That's a long time you know. If you do that in the arena you'd be dead by now." She babbles.

I grin at her, "Thanks for your vote of confidence. You're the second person to have told me that now."

"That's when you need to actually start listening to them. Oh, who's the first person to tell you that? Is it your smoking hot District partner? What's his name, Adrian? No offence but I would, like, totally date him if he offered. I mean, he might be a few years older than I am but that doesn't matter." She gives me a sly grin. It is then that I realise she's twelve. I guess the fact that she's smaller than me and the fact she looks ten should have been a good clue. However, she acts like no twelve-year old I've ever seen. Dating a seventeen-year old isn't typical of a twelve-year old, as far as I know. Although this is coming from a socially-awkward person like myself.

"He's not 'smoking hot'," I use air quotation marks to make my point clearer, "And sorry, he's taken by me." I point both of my hands to my body while plastering a cheesy grin on my face and dancing around.

"I feel sorry for him." She says as I proceed in my spontaneous dance routine.

"You still want me in an alliance?" I ask when I've finished.

"Well I'm already crazy. All my friends say so anyway. Apparently I see things from a different perspective. Everyone does, I think or they'd be clones otherwise and that would be boring, but like, my perspective is more different. Like one time, there was this duck and I said that it had – "

I hold up a hand to stop her rambling. How she gets from alliances to clones to ducks is beyond me. She's also an excessive talker, in case you hadn't noticed, "Is that a yes or a no?" I ask. The current answer she gave me wasn't really specific on that tiny little detail.

"Of course I do. It would be totally, like, amazing to have you in our alliance. Why wouldn't I? You're skilled and selfless and brave. Did you see when you stood up to that Career from Two? Wait, you would have done since you were doing the standing-up-for-yourself thing. But it was seriously cool. You didn't let him push you around. Well he did push you around but I didn't mean it literally. Have I said you're selfless? Because you, like, totally are. I saw that girl you volunteered for. She wouldn't have stood a chance since she was twelve. You saved her from the bloodbath. Wait, I'm twelve but I stand a chance, right?" She looks at me innocently while I go though her speech in my head.

It was the most I had ever heard out of someone in one go for starters, aside from the Mayor droning on about repentance and all of that. On a side note, did he accept repentance from me for accidentally-on-purposely killing him? That would be convenient if there was an afterlife, otherwise I would be going to Hell.

Anyway, someone who babbled on this much was probably hiding something. She's part of the anti-Career alliance. I remember her now, stating loud and clear that she would join. Why is she pretending she isn't? Well she hasn't actually denied joining them yet so I'd better ask.

"Aren't you one of those anti-Career recruits?" I ask, completely ignoring her previous speech. Well where on Earth was I supposed to start? She had said an awful lot, you know.

She looks surprised for a moment then recovers into her dopey-looking façade. And I know it's a façade now; she can't hide it. Under her innocent looks and age, there's something that I would class as dangerous. Lily's probably trying to lure me into the anti-Careers by flattery.

Too bad that wasn't how I operated.

"Yeah, I am. It'll be great if you joined." Lily gives me a wide grin but I stand my ground.

I look at her scornfully, "Yes, because having half the tributes in an alliance is going to work so well." I say sarcastically, "Who's the leader of this 'great' pack? You?"

She gives me a puppy-dog look of sadness, which I am also unaffected by, "The District Six and Seven tributes are. That's Sam, Evelyn and Adele in case you didn't know. As you said, cont – leading half the tributes is difficult for one person so we voted and they were chosen." My mind flies back to when the pack was formed. The Six and Seven tributes – apart from Flint – were the ones to propose the idea. It's not too shocking that they would be the ones leading it.

"Nice idea, but I'm still not joining." I say, resisting the temptation to say something rude, sarcastic or insulting. After all, there's only so much drama you can have in one day and I've had my fair share.

"Why?" She attempts to give me a winning puppy-smile but I detect the whine in her voice.

"I prefer to work alone." I say with what I hope is a note of finality in my voice before walking off over to the edible plants station. Unfortunately the Game-makers, being decidedly awkward – ring the bell that signals training is over.

Trust me, that bell ringing is definitely inconvenient. Have I learned anything from the actual freaking stations today? Nope. Not even any edible berries or whatnot since that was my actual intention for today after ''convincing everyone I wasn't too much of a threat''. Yeah, because that went so well. Now both of the larger alliances think I need to be taken out. That's over a dozen people personally gunning for me when the Bloodbath comes rolling around. The only thing I did gain today was a broken wrist.

Smooth going there, Beryl. Real smart. I was planning on grabbing a backpack and possibly a knife but I doubt I'm even going to get those things now before somebody managed to throw a spear at me. Or a knife. After all, I wasn't the best runner. Sure I was fast, but I bet you that someone else was faster. Rule #3: if you're not sure about someone/ something, it's better to overestimate than underestimate. It could be the difference between you knowing their next move or them shooting a arrow into you because you thought they couldn't use a bow. Same thing applies to running. It's a pretty important skill and I've had plenty of practice improving my stamina and speed, having to run from the Peace-keepers and all that. However I wasn't the best and I hoped that it wasn't going to be my downfall in the bloodbath.

Okay, it was only twenty metres to the heart of the Cornucopia and another twenty metres back so maybe that wouldn't be too bad. Mind you, I didn't want to attract the attention of the Careers whilst doing that.

On the flip side, I've learned a few things about the actual tributes. The standard Careers will probably not be able to follow me up a tree, the District Nine tributes are both competent with knives, Hayliana, despite being at a obvious disadvantage, is capable of butchering you with a scythe. Oh yeah, and the alliances. If the massive huddle of people crowded around one table wasn't any indicator. Sam, the boy tribute for Seven, is declaring something but from here I can't hear a word. He says a few words while punching the air with his right fist and the Five girl cheers, quickly followed by the others. I watch as Lily clumsily makes her way over and pretends to trip over her own feet. There's a faint pink tinge to her cheeks as she shuffles her feet awkwardly. Her District partner notices and says something with a concerned face. I catch her sly smile that he doesn't notice.

If she didn't die in the bloodbath, I would be classing her as a threat. A minor threat, if there was such a thing, but still a threat. She looked like she had something up her sleeve.

No, this did not mean I was going to actively seek her out and kill her myself; the Careers would be willing enough to murder her. I catch myself – murder? Sure, she was twelve but if anyone killed her it was because the Capitol had advocated it, not because of an act of senseless violence. Killed, check. Murdered? Not so much. I guess it didn't really matter, the subtle differences between being killed and being murdered, did it? The end result was the same. She was going to have to die if I wanted to live for more than two weeks from now, if I wanted to live to see my birthday. How many days from now was it? Well Reaping Day was on the 1st March, the ride to the Capitol and the chariot rides were held on the same day and it was currently the first day of training. The 2nd of March. Only a fortnight left before I would be sixteen. If I lived that long. If I was skilled enough to survive twelve days in the arena – no, scratch that, if I was _lucky _enough.

That was a subtle difference that did matter. That, and it depends on if the Game-makers wanted you dead or not.

Anyway, it would be significantly more difficult to take Lily out when she had most of the other tributes in an alliance. How they were planning on blending in or having enough food for everyone were questions that they had better have answers to, otherwise I predict a problem.

Their loss if they didn't. Personally, even if they did find a solution to this problem, I didn't think this alliance was the best idea. On the contrary, I thought it was ridiculous. Alliances with more than five or six tributes in them? Yeah, they don't tend to work too well. Twelve tributes?

The last time an alliance that large happened was in the 5rd Hunger Games, seventy-four or so years ago. Most of the tributes killed the people that didn't want to join and then refused to kill each other. Then the cameras kept on rolling as the leaders were brutally killed by mutts. It took hours for them to finish them off and after they had, there wasn't much left but a few smears of blood. Next, they sent specialised tracker-jackers that made the tributes attack each other. That's when they got the message and a second bloodbath occurred. You couldn't run away because the Game-makers decided to end the Games quickly so it looked intentional. Therefore, the arena was dramatically shrunk so you couldn't hide for long. It worked – the Games that year didn't even last twenty-four hours. The victor, a daisy of a girl from District Ten who had pretended to be dead for most of the Games and then killed the girl from Four in the final two, had the last laugh when it came to rebellion though. She committed suicide a few days after her Games were over. How the Capitol managed to cover that up I have no idea, but it was definitely controversial.

Unsurprisingly enough, no one has tried to defy the Capitol like that since then and I doubt they'll start to now. In theory, this alliance is a great set-up for another bloodbath. Well the Capitol will love that, won't they?

The likelihood of the final showdown being between two anti-Careers is unlikely. Unless they suddenly gang up on the Careers at the bloodbath before they can grab their weapons to begin the massacre. Although massacre is probably a slight overstatement – tributes are becoming smarter and more knowledgeable about the Games and as a consequence, the tributes dying at the bloodbath are minimal. Last year was an exception with thirteen tributes dead but the years before have been of great disappointment in terms of bloodbaths. One year, only three tributes died at the bloodbath. Three! Suffice to say, those Games lasted a while.

However I doubt that will work as I've seen the guy from Four disarm two armed men in training without breaking a sweat. Even I had to admit that particular feat was impressive.

A few amateur tributes would probably not stand up to much in comparison – including me. Even the other Careers would struggle to complete that feat, although the men he had disarmed didn't have their lives on the line. People always fought harder when they were in danger of dying. It's slightly unnerving, the fact that the point of this room is to train us to kill people. To know that I could be on the losing end of any one of the mock fights that have happened here. Except that the prize for losing is a lot more serious than a few bruises and some advice on how to win next time.

Speaking of death, one of my potential killers decides that now is the time to walk though the doors that only me and one other have been escorted though. Scowling, Felix Wilds scans the Training Centre with a practised efficiency that I've seen many times with the Peace-keepers – and more recently, Adrian. When he sees me, making my way over to the elevators in a manner that indicates that I'm not taking my time, his scowl deepens but he doesn't try and intercept me. Well he's already tried once, not even he is that stupid to think that he'll get away so lightly if he tries again. I hope – as I've already said, there has been enough drama for one day, no?

My mentors and escort had other ideas.


	11. Consequences

**The 79th Hunger Games **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)  
**

Chapter Ten

**_Beryl Streep, _**

**_District Three,_**

"Beryllium Streep, never have I heard of such atrocious behaviour from a District Three tribute. I repeat, never. Not in all my years of escorting tributes have I ever been witness to this. Two tributes attacking each other before the Games! An outrage and absolutely atrocious. It is showing poor manners to the hard-working staff at the Training Centre and tarnishing your reputation. In fact, you have successfully tarnished _all _our reputations, especially me. How am I supposed to teach you any decent manners in three days? Oh, the effrontery!" Everyone on the table is either looking at the flustered Electra or me. I've been exchanging frustrated looks with Adrian who just looks amused with the whole situation. She's been on my case for the last ten minutes, ever since I came in late because the Capitol doctors were fixing my wrist. Feeling the need to repeat everything she has lectured me on at least four times, Electra was rapidly eating away at my patience. On a side note, how she managed to link table manners to Felix injuring me before the Games is beyond me. I would be mildly impressed at this but then again, this was Electra. Table manners were next to godliness in her opinion.

She opens her mouth to continue but I butt in with my trademark subtlety and tact, "Electra, could you shut the hell up? Nobody cares about manners!" I wave my hands around dramatically while speaking/ shouting as I tend to do when irritated or stressed. When she doesn't say anything for a while, I mutter, "About time." Then I realise it's because she's left the room.

Now everyone is looking at me. In the background you can hear Electra's sobbing. Brilliant, now she's crying. All I said was that nobody wants to hear her speak – oh wait, I can see how this could be taken offensively. Beetee is the first to speak, "I do believe that was uncalled for."

I resist one of my supposedly 'immature' comebacks and try to adapt a sensible demeanour, to little avail, "I didn't mean to offend her." I reply innocently.

Adrian snorts, "Of course you didn't. It's not like telling someone that nobody likes to hear them talk is offensive or anything."

"It sounded nicer in my head." I retort, only half-lying.

He raises an eyebrow, "Everything sounds nicer in your head with you, doesn't it?"

"Well it's not my fault she's so easily offended. If someone had told me that, I wouldn't cry about it."

He sighs and puts his head in his hand in exasperation but before he can reply, Beetee interrupts, "Beryllium, I do believe you should apologise to Electra for your earlier outburst."

Now it's my turn to raise an eyebrow, "Apologise?" I ask, my disbelief clear in my voice, "That'll just invite her to moan at me for the next two hours."

"If she does then it's your consequence for not treating the Capitol citizens with respect. We are only guests here." I get the impression that he's only repeating the words that he's been told from our 'superiors' and that he doesn't really care. Those words are nothing but Capitol propaganda. Meaningless. Biased. However, I do have to fit in, however much I feel like a wire on a bomb that's about to be cut. The wire that's about to cause a massive explosion, that is.

I sigh, not amused at having to _apologise _to somebody. Especially a Capitolite that didn't deserve it. However, I didn't want her to incessantly nag me about it, "Fine," The chair squeaks against the polished floor as I stand up, "Where is she, anyway?" Beetee points a finger down the hallway that leads to the bathroom. Rolling my eyes at Adrian, who gives me a cute smile back, I move down the hallway, the final five metres to face my impending death by Electra.

After spending five minutes on my apology which is 110% overkill on my part, Electra lectures me about how my 'barbarism' will affect my chances of winning for ten minutes. I still don't see how my lack of politeness will help me lose the Games but really, it could have been worse so I'm not complaining. After her lecture, she gives me back the item which she must have stolen, "Thank you for letting me borrow this top." She informs me in a prim voice.

I tentatively take the top in question. It's that blue tee which I was wearing before the chariot rides and it isn't even mine. I'm sure that Electra is well aware of this but I don't bother pursuing it. As long as my stuff was safe then no harm had really been done, "You're welcome." I just say stiffly before leaving to put the top back in the closet where it belonged.

Dinner was uneventful. Well it would seem like it compared to breakfast when I had danced on top of the mahogany table.

_That is mahogany! _I recall Electra's accent as I had jumped around on the table. Not like you would have guessed that such a thing had ever happened from the way the table was laid out. There was a new, pristine white cloth and plates embellished with gold were spread out from left to right. Food was on those plates, just waiting for me to devour. Well, maybe not devour, that would undo any progress I had made with my apology, which I didn't want to do. Apologising to someone was something that I hated doing, hence why I didn't do it very often. Having to do it again would be torture, especially to a brainless adult who had the sense of a three-year old. Wait, that would offend three-year old children, so maybe not. You get the idea though.

Beetee tries to inject some life into the conversation, which is currently non-existent. I'm poking around the food that's on my plate while Adrian keeps looking at his hands like they've just betrayed him. I don't know why and I make a mental note to ask him later as he looks distinctly uncomfortable. Actually, he looks like he's been told that he has three weeks to live – wait, forget I thought that. Chances are that three weeks would be pushing it when the Hunger Games were involved, "Adrian, how did your training go today?" It's a basic line for conversation after training but it is important. He needn't ask me, Electra had said – or rather, screeched – enough for him to get the basic information on how my day had gone.

"Fine," He replies in what I think is supposed to be a calm tone, but his voice cracks slightly and he gives me a suspicious glance, "I've joined the Careers without any problems."

"Yes, that's a great plan," I say cheerily, not meaning any of what I say next, "Now you have six other tributes to combat the anti-Careers when they try and kill you." I finish this with a smile while Beetee and Adrian scrutinise me to see if I'm being sarcastic. Trust me, I was. Six or seven tributes was way less subtle than one. Everyone knew the Careers were going to camp at the Cornucopia anyway, happens every year. It was a wide open opportunity for a sneaky ninja-style attack during the night from the anti-Careers.

"Anti-Careers?" Beetee inquires. Evidently the other mentors haven't told him about the massive alliance being formed. Either that or the other anti-Careers were keeping it a secret.

I turn to him, "Haven't you heard? The tributes from Five, Seven, Eight, Ten and Twelve have made this massive alliance. The girl from Six has joined as well," I crease my forehead, trying to remember all the tributes. Well I might as well use process of elimination as the amount of tributes not in the anti-Careers would be easier to name. The Careers weren't in the alliance, funnily enough. Neither were we, the tributes from Nine or the guy from Six. Hayley was also sticking it out on her own. Wait, I had forgotten someone, "Oh, and the Eleven guy."

Beetee raises his eyebrows, "Why didn't you join them?" He asks me.

Why is he asking me this? He's not my mentor, after all. Well my mentor is pretending to be a drug addict, for reasons unknown. Nonetheless, I tell him. It's hardly strategic information for Adrian to use, "I would hate having to get along with twelve other people. It would be a nightmare."

"Not as much of a nightmare for you as it would be for the other tributes in that alliance," Adrian smiles at me. Whatever was troubling him earlier seems to have been forgotten, "You'll make them all want to kill you within an hour."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," I reply sarcastically, "I'm so happy that I didn't join them now that you've told me that." I decide to leave the table again, grabbing an apple on the way out, "See you tomorrow." I stick my tongue out at him before leaving to start my top-secret mentoring session with Zayna. Well, only me and Zayna know about it and it's taking place in the non-bugged mentors' room so it's definitely a hush-hush kind of thing.

I knock on the door that leads to Zayna's room.

"Hello? Is that you, Beryl?"

"Aye aye, Agent Ryes," I answer, using Zayna's last name. Zayna Ryes, "This is Agent Streep reporting for my next mission at District Three Headquarters." I open the door and salute her while she gives me one of those looks. You know, one of those _what is wrong with this girl _looks people tend to give me. You don't know what that's like? Okay, maybe it's just me.

"Focus Beryllium," Beryllium? Oh, she so has my focus all right. Rule #1: Never ever call me Beryllium. Ever.

"Don't call me that!" I make agitated gestures with my hands as I shout those words, "Seriously, it is the stupidest name ever. How would you like it if someone named you Beryllium? It should be a crime to have a child named something so unfortunate and have to pay for their parent's lack of good taste when it comes to names."

She just raises an eyebrow, "If I could possibly have your attention now."

I skip over to one of the comfy chairs and jump on top of one, "Yes, Agent Ryes, I'm listening."

"And if you could call me by my given first name, that would also be required."

I raise my hands in surrender, "What? You have to admit, all this secrecy is totally like a James Bond film. Not like I'm complaining because this is actually quite cool." I grin at her while giving her the thumbs up.

She looks at me dead-pan, "Are you always like this?" She asks me calmly.

I consider this for a moment, "Yeah, pretty much."

She looks at me and I resist the urge to shift under her penetrating gaze. Staring at the clock, watching and hearing it go tick tock tick tock was how I found myself passing the time until she decided to reply.

_Tick tock tick tock, there goes the clock. Tick tock tick tock._

I have no idea what she's looking for in me but whatever she's trying to find, she doesn't appear to succeed. Shaking her head, Zayna lays back in her chair and sighs, "What am I going to do with you?"

"Huh? What? What do you need me for?" I ask, sent out of my observation of the clock by her murmured question. Instantly, I sit up, now wide awake and ready to listen. I'm slightly ashamed to say that's not the first time I've been distracted like that. Hell, I'll just admit it, my concentration was sadly lacking. It always has been, I can't help it. Well it isn't, it's not like it's my fault that people are so boring, is it? Anyway, Zayna wasn't saying anything. Was I supposed to pay attention? I would still hear her if she said something. Although in a battle, concentration was important. One time, me and Adrian ran into two Peace-keepers while we were walking down this alleyway and the only weapon we had were golf clubs. I'm not even kidding here, we literally had to knock out the Peace-keepers while they kept trying to shoot us with guns. Luckily there were plenty of bins to duck behind. Eventually we had worked out that using Adrian to distract them while I whacked them on the head with the golf clubs would work. Well it would have done except that I kept babbling about the unfairness of guns versus golf clubs. Come on, that was so unfair. To cut to the chase, that plan didn't work out too well but I knocked out one of them. However the other one still had a gun and could still kill us. Then –

The tapping of Zayna's foot meant that she must have said something, but I wasn't listening, too busy was I remembering that time just six months ago. Basically, we succeeded. You could have probably guessed this by the fact that I'm still alive, "Huh?" I repeat again with my usual elegance.

Zayna sighs. Again. If her chair had any armrests so she could place her arms on them, I'm sure that she would be face-palming, "We need to think of an interview angle for you."

I groan, "Oh perfect, interviews. Why must I have to please such pathetic, idiotic things that can't pass as humans, why? It's torture, Zayna. Who advocates the Hunger Games to children? Who? Seriously, I've run into people who want to be in the Hunger Games because they think it's fun. Those people aren't much older than eight years old. The Capitol are raising a generation of bloodthirsty airheads," I trail off, suddenly depressed with this topic. Why can't the Capitol take part in these Games, just for one year? Then they'll see that it's not glamorous. That this kind of thing isn't fun. If there's anybody around to show them that fact, it's not going to be me. I did volunteer after all. I recover my voice enough to add, "The end of the world is nigh."

She smirks weakly at me, "Well with such a pleasant attitude towards your hosts, I can't just leave you to charm the crowds by yourself. If anything, you'll probably be killed by the Capitol citizens themselves."

"Why should I care about what they think?" I hiss, "I'm going into the arena soon anyway. I could die there and the Capitol aren't going to save me then, are they?" No, the Capitol will not help me. Would not. Instead, they'll cheer and urge on my killer as my life – everything I ever was – was ripped and shredded to pieces.

Zayna gets up and gives my shoulder what is supposed to be a sympathetic pat, "I know, Beryl," Her voice is quieter than the pitter-patter of a mouse's feet against cobblestone and I strain my ears to hear her, "But to survive the Hunger Games you have to use adaptation."

"Adaptation?" My question asks her to explain her point further.

"Adaptation," She repeats, "You have to stray out of your comfort zone to survive. You have to endure whatever the Capitol throws at you or they'll kill you off without mercy," I know that when she says 'they'll' she means the Capitol and not just the other tributes, "You have to adapt yourself for the Hunger Games and Beryl?"

"Yeah?" I say dully, still digesting what she had said. It made sense, her words. Simple, pure logic. However I had a funny feeling that her next words wouldn't be so helpful or nice.

"I think you're already halfway there to being suited for the Games."

Those words seem to ruin the peaceful atmosphere of the room like a dropped pebble spoils the surface of water. To any naïve Capitolite, they wouldn't have noticed the sudden tension in the air, wouldn't feel it crushing them like an elephant. On the contrary, a Capitolite would have taken the words Zayna uttered as a compliment.

But I knew better. Being suited for the Hunger Games? It meant you were turning into a monster. Someone who could look at a crying child pleading with you not to kill them and ignore them. To not care as you swing the sword down to behead them or to not care as you plunge the knife into their heart. Casually wipe the blood that stains your knife red on your clothes while the cannon of your innocent victim fires. Repeating the same process over and over and over again without a mark on your conscience. And then, after the initial carnage is over, facing the families of those you have killed with no tears or condolences. Feigning sympathy and humbleness when deep, deep down in the corners of a empty grey soul, you feel nothing. Not even numbness.

Feeling depressed or angry or a weird happiness that only the tributes who have completely bared their souls to the Capitol experience after the Games? It means you weren't really born for the Hunger Games, but at least you still had some semblance of what being human really was. Feel nothing? That meant you were the perfect candidate.

The perfect role model for the Capitol to look up to.

Zayna's words seem to settle into the room and expand, expand so that they're crushing me, causing me to hyperventilate as the oxygen is slowly turned into carbon dioxide. The room seems to shrink so that it's encasing me, trapping me like the arena encloses you in death. Turning into your grave, wherever that meant the death of your body, your sanity or your freedom.

And then I'm standing up, I'm bursting though the doors and sprinting for the tributes' quarters before I know what I'm doing. Gasping and panting like a dog, I approach the elevators and then have second thoughts.

No, that was even worse than the mentors' room, which had been small enough. I didn't want to go into there, that object that defied nature by moving up and down when it should stay inanimate. I didn't want to be in there alone. With the other tributes, it was at least somewhat bearable. Their lack of fear, their trust in the elevator helped me. But they weren't here, Adrian wasn't here and I couldn't do it. I didn't want to feel the walls against my skin, threatening to keep me here forever. Keep me forever inside that moving coffin that could suddenly stop moving and start falling and falling while I'd be screaming and screaming and then it'll crash into the floor and I'll be –

Without any warning my legs gave way like soaked paper, making my head crash into the floor. This doesn't knock me out or anything but a white hot stab of pain spreads though my head, compressing my brain into a vice. I let out a moan. Now my head was being restricted too. Everything was closing in on me.

That's the last thing I remember before I black out.

* * *

**Hi again, just like to say that I'm going on holiday soon for a week and this will probably be the last chapter uploaded until I get back as I doubt my ability to write another chapter before I leave :)**

**So, what did you think of this chapter? Please tell me as your opinions are always appreciated :D  
**


	12. Catch you later

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)**

Chapter Eleven

_**Heliotrope De Costar, **_

_**District One,**_

When my mother had talked about her Hunger Games to me as a child, she had briefly mentioned a tip about managing the Career alliance. How you had to put up with the stupidity of the other tributes as you manipulated them and how you had to be so very careful that you didn't scupper your chances of being leader. I had paid her no attention back then; all the boys would love to be with me and all the girls would totally want to, well, be me, right? Everybody back in the fabulous District One did.

I wish I had now because now I can't manipulate anybody. Felix, the District Two tribute, might be totally hot and everything but he's stormed in and taken control of the Career alliance. Like, that was so unfair. I had even asked him nicely. Okay, maybe I didn't ask as such but I had worked hard enough to ensure that he would agree and let me take control. At least, that was what I had thought, anyway.

"_Hey there, Felix." I had purred in my trademark seductive tone that made all the boys want me as I entered the District Two compartments. At least, the cute boys had always stared at me when I said something. However they were too in awe of me to look at me directly in the eyes so their gaze was usually fixed lower down my body than my head. It was the case with Felix because he was definitely paying attention to me now. As always, he couldn't look at me in the eyes so he was staring at my chest like every other boy did. There was a confident smirk on his lips and it only grew wider when I walked over to the couch that he was sitting on, 'shyly' playing with a strand of my amazing platinum hair. That was one thing that I didn't have to work that hard for; my blonde hair had been completely natural and didn't curl at the ends like some people's did. However, it hadn't been eye-catching enough so I dyed it a brighter colour._

_Felix pats the space next to him with his hand, "Why don't you come on over and sit here, maybe have a nice little conversation?" He asks me politely, or as politely as Felix could seem, anyway. Not that I minded, actually I preferred a bad boy to the boring, overrated goody-two-shoes that most other girls dreamed of having in their arms._

_I smile at him, making sure to move over to where he was sitting extra slowly so that he had more time to view my full body profile. His eyes don't stray from me once during this. Even better._

"_Sure," My voice is slightly husky as I deliberately avoid making eye contact with him. I sit down next to him, not giving him any room to back away. Actually, I was practically sitting on his lap, giving Felix a coy smile which he was returning enthusiastically, "That sounds like a brilliant idea. What do you want to…talk about?" I pause slightly before saying the word 'talk' pointedly, implying that I wanted to do anything but._

_Felix gives me a wicked grin that only adds to his appeal. It's not like he isn't hot already, with his messy hair that was a to-die-for shade of auburn red and his eyes. I'd say they were a green colour but they seemed so much deeper than that, so much richer in colour. I didn't know how to describe them so I stopped staring – I did not gawk – at his eyes and instead marvelled at his chest. He must have worked out a lot to have a six-pack that impressive. You could see it though his top, although it was quite a tight-fitting top, with buttons down the centre of it. Ideal for taking it off then. It was almost as tight as the dress I had picked out for my mission. It was a small, skimpy piece of black fabric that made my physique look even thinner than it usually did and it was so short that the fabric barely managed to cover my butt. As you can imagine, it didn't leave too much to the imagination, which was exactly what I was aiming for._

_Leaning in closer, he murmurs, "Well, I'm sure you didn't decide to stroll in here just to talk, did you?" His lips briefly brush my ear caressingly while I giggle._

"_Of course not, that wouldn't be very productive at all." My voice is verging on being sultry as I fiddled with one of the buttons on his top before viciously ripping it off from the top and throwing the white button to the side. His grin grows wider as I proceed to rip off his top, leaving me to set my eyes on his bare chest. And it is a fabulous one as well, tanned and perfect. It definitely adds to his hotness. As my hand slowly moves from admiring his body down to where the zipper for his trousers is, he interrupts, "Why don't we do this somewhere more private?" He growls at me, but not in a menacing way. It's because he wants me, it must be. I look into his lust-filled eyes and I submit to him by moving over and standing up, playing with the hem of my dress temptingly. His eyes light up as he gets up and guides me to what must be his bedroom. In the centre of the room, a double bed awaits. I subtly edge myself closer to Felix and he smirks at me, having received the message that I was trying to convey. He shoves me onto the bed and practically tears off the dress that I was wearing._

"_A bit eager, aren't we?" I ask him, enveloping him in my arms while his fingers run though my hair._

"_Of course," He answers while his other hand moves down my body to rest on my hip, "Who wouldn't be with you?" He presses his lips forcefully to mine, not giving me any chance to object. It's not like I would object, mind you, because Felix sure could kiss well. However, I have a moment of doubt. When he kissed me, he didn't seem to treat me with the courtesy that most of the other guys I had slept with did. Felix didn't seem to view me as a person as he took control. He thought that I was nothing but a piece of property that he owned. Something that he could use and abuse and not have to deal with any consequences. It almost felt like he was forcing me onto him without my permission. _

_Quickly, without thinking, I shove him off me. He quickly gets back up and anger flashes in his eyes._

_Before he says anything, I quickly say, "Er Felix? Can we just get on with it?" I watch as his old charming smile returns._

"_I like the way you think." He pulls me in closer to him and I try not to think about what happens next._

_What did I get myself into?_

"_Did you enjoy that?" He asks me after we had done 'it'. I didn't really feel any different, not like that was surprising. Well it wasn't the first time that I had done this sort of thing before but the reasoning behind it was new. I was directly using my body to try to manipulate Felix into protecting me and – hopefully – letting me take control of the Career alliance. However, it's not like I could tell him that I hadn't actually, like, paid any attention to what we had done as to _how_ he was doing it. Felix was way too aggressive, way too rough with me. I didn't like it, it had _hurt.

_And I could hardly tell him that either, it would be taken as a sign of weakness which I could not afford right now, "Of course I did, honey. Why wouldn't I?" I hesitate before asking the next question, "So, do I get anything out of this then? Maybe make this official?" When I say that, I mean that we would be having a short, brief romance before I slit his throat._

_Felix raises an eyebrow before he figures out what I mean by this. Suddenly, before I can comprehend what he is doing, he has both wrists pinned down on the bed as he lies on top of me, grinning wickedly, "Isn't this enough?" He doesn't have to elaborate on that, "It's not like I'm asking you for any more favours, is it?"_

"_But – "_

_He taps his finger against my lips, silencing me, "No buts. Now you're going to stop talking, get up and walk out of here all nice and quietly, aren't you? And when the time comes, I'll kill you quickly. Oh, and you can stay in the Career alliance. Is that good enough for you, Queen Heliotrope?"_

"_Who says that you'll be around to kill m – "_

_His grip around my wrists tighten, "I said stop talking," He hisses at me, "Say one more word and I'll do to you what I did to Beryl." Felix lifts up one of my wrists to prove his point and I just nod meekly. He stands up, not in the slightest bit self-conscious of the fact that he wasn't wearing any clothes, while I quickly put back on my pants and my dress._

"_Oh, and Heliotrope?"_

_I turn to face Felix, "Yes?"_

_He smirks at my submissive tone of voice while he starts putting on his clothes, "You're not going to say a word about this, are you?"_

_Now it's my time to smirk, "Why ever not, Felix? Do you already have a girlfriend, hmm?" His scowl tells me everything I need to know about that subject, "It wouldn't happen to be Xenia, would it?" I laugh, but my laugh is anything but nice. It has a sinister sound to it, which was my intention._

_Now Felix smiles at me nastily, his top still on the floor as he moves closer to me, "It would be, actually," He admits, "And if you decide to tell anybody then the first person on her hit-list will be you. I wouldn't do that if I was you. I_ really_ wouldn't."_

"_Do you really think that's going to stop – "_

_His hand makes a clamp around my mouth, effectively cutting off the rest of my sentence, "You don't quite seem to get it, Heliotrope," His voice is quiet, in a menacing way as he glares at me, "If you say one word to anybody about this, I will kill you. And if I don't, I'm sure my _girlfriend_," He puts unnecessary emphasis on 'girlfriend', "Will be more than happy to do it for me." _

_He backs away from me like I was on fire and I blurt out, "Then why did you do it?"_

_Felix just laughs, "I was just taking advantage of this opportunity," He runs a hand though his hair while looking at me scornfully, "You're so easy, it wasn't even fun trying. Honestly, I'd bet that if you were left alone with Andrew, you'd have tried it on with him." I sent him a glare but he seems impervious to my mood and continued to scorn me. I walk towards the door, defeated. You know the worst thing? He was telling the truth, at least partly the truth. Although I doubt he was aware of this, he had mentioned something that I didn't really want to face up to just yet._

_All I could say was that really hadn't gone to plan. _

That was when I had stormed off. Oh, why did Felix reject my offer? I had been extremely generous with that. Oh I know, it's because his sour-faced bitch of a District partner, Xenia, had already staked a claim on him. Great, the only other majorly attractive guy in our alliance apart from Adrian (who is already taken as well) also has a girlfriend. My life sucks. I really don't see why Felix is interested in her – her hair has way more split ends than mine. Also, Xenia is way too fat to be pretty. She might not be really really fat or anything but she's nothing compared to me. What Capitol guru went for curves anyway? Everybody loved the supermodel skinny look, didn't they?

Well the Capitol did, they must do. Why else would everyone here be so skinny? Like, really really skinny? I spent hours training and running so that I didn't go like Xenia and somehow the Capitol citizens are still prettier in that department than I was. How was that even possible? The answer is obvious: this is the Capitol, the home of miracles. When I won the Hunger Games, I was so going to look like them, the patrons of beauty. Everyone in District One longed for a chance to visit our merciful leaders of Panem. They had spared us after we had rebelled all those years ago. Even better, they were giving us a chance to be forgiven for our mistakes and to spend our lives bathed in riches and glory. Oh, and the beautifying processes they offered. Of course they wouldn't use the adults to go into the Hunger Games – their kids were the ones who ultimately paid the price and this was obviously the most successful way to do that, as the victor received the most luxurious life you could imagine. It was the best opportunity one could receive in District One and now it was in my hand. Only a few days and twenty-two tributes to kill before my name would be forever immortalised in history. Or even better, the De Costar family name would never be forgotten. My mother – Stunner – had competed in the 59th Hunger Games and had easily won, which is when my family name had first been placed into the spotlight. Don't you think Stunner is such a cool name? I wish my name was as cool as hers.

She had been the leader of the Career alliance and had dominated the arena, which happened to be a swamp. I had felt sorry for her; the humidity in that arena hadn't been great for her hair. Neither did it help with skincare.

Oh yeah, and there were, like, loads of weird green mutt things that looked like dinosaurs but could swim in the river that surrounded the Cornucopia. Those dinosaur mutts killed over a third of the tributes that year, the girl from Two and the boy from Four included. Afterwards, I found out that the mutts were supposed to be the children of a larger mutt.

They called that mutt the Loch Ness monster. Apparently the Game-makers hadn't made up the idea, it was copied from a story in the Pre-Panem times, a long time ago.

Of course, they saved that Loch Ness monster thingy for the great finale. All the other District tributes save the girl from Twelve were dead by that point and the only Careers left were the Two boy, the Four girl and my mother's District partner. Because it wasn't the done thing to kill your District partner, Stunner came up with this brilliant plan. She waited until everyone was asleep on a night when her District partner was keeping watch. She very quietly took one of his knives and stabbed the Four girl with it. As the cannon fired, she pretended that she had been awoken by the cannon and she blamed her District partner, as he was the only one awake and his knife was in the corpse. Believing my mother and already having a hatred of the One boy planted in him by Stunner, the Two boy then snapped the One boy's neck. Knowing that the Twelve girl was no threat, Stunner stabbed the Two boy while he was killing the One boy so that she was the only Career left. The Twelve girl should have taken my mother five seconds to kill. Well, I'm pretty sure she would have done had the Loch Ness monster not decided to come out and start attacking her. After the Twelve girl drowned, my mother was crowned victor, but had lost most of her left arm in the process.

My mother won because she was the leader and she could control what happened. She didn't bother controlling any arguments that happened, knowing that it could benefit her later. And it did. Since I'm not leader, however, I was going to have to take a different stance on how to win. Maybe – a plan was forming in my head as I thought. Maybe I could be the 'underdog' of the Careers. Appear to be a threat to the District tributes but not seem to be able to take out somebody like Felix. I didn't really want to use that strategy though and I don't know how well it would work – everybody knew that I was the best already. Wait, actually they didn't. If they did, then I would have become leader of the Careers with no problems.

Making everybody think that I was the weakest of the Careers but really being the strongest wasn't my original strategy and it'll make me look bad. How will I face the good people of District One when I win by using such lowly tactics only a wretch from the lower Districts would use? Anyway, I can't perform too badly in training, otherwise Felix might kick me out and then I'll be the first everyone targets at the bloodbath for sure. But I wouldn't show them how good I was at using a crossbow, oh no. They could find out later, when they drowned in their own blood as their necks were pierced. They'll find out why you don't underestimate Heliotrope De Costar, daughter of Stunner De Costar and future victor of the 79th Hunger Games.

Anyway, I bet I had already scared the hell out of them with my impeccable skills with a whip and fabulous appearance, which was emphasised by the skin-tight leather jumpsuit I was currently wearing. The fact the jumpsuit was black made me happy – black was supposed to make you look skinnier than you actually are. Also, my platinum blonde hair which reached my hips was the envy of Panem.

At least, all my friends said so every time I asked, which was at least twice a day. I felt so sorry for my friends – they would have to cope without me for a few weeks. I could see them now, clutching at their hearts in agony as they remember how everybody would stop and look at me as I strutted past like the incredible specimen of humanity that I am. Or even better, my friends emptying their wallets to sponsor me in the arena.

I know the Capitol would do, I was the most beautiful of the girls. Xenia I've already explained, Beryllium looked like a twelve-year old, Annabel was way too crazy to be pretty, the Five and Six girls were hardly supermodels, the Seven girl was too timid for anyone to pay attention to her, the Eight girl actually was twelve years old, Natalie – the Ten girl – was also too young and Hayliana was a slut. Come on, she's pregnant at seventeen. The only person rivalling me in terms of beauty was the girl from Nine. Bailey, I think. She has a pretty face, she's quite slender and her skin is a rich mahogany colour. For some strange reason, dark skin was all the fashion in the Capitol right now so that might get her some sponsors. Personally I don't get this fashion, as my skin is the complete opposite of hers and I'm still more stunning than she is. Well that didn't matter, she was barely fifteen so they'll be more willing to vouch for me. I was older, which meant I was more likely to win. This year would have been my last year for volunteering so I have all the training I'll need to be rightfully crowned the victor. Although I might not be the only one winning this year.

"Andrew, Heliotrope!" A feminine voice called me and my District partner over. You could hear Andrew stomp his feet over to the elevators from a mile away. If he was this loud in the arena then I'll be the first to kill him, rule or no rule. On the plus side, I didn't really have to manipulate him too much – he's supposed to be on my side. Never mind the fact that I would still be thinking of ways to dispose of him. If I was going to win the Hunger Games, I didn't want to be dragged down by this blundering idiot. At least I didn't have to worry about him trying to kill me; he didn't have enough brain cells to make a plan and execute it. However, he was very strong, as well as a bit too into the Hunger Games. Yesterday, during the first day of training, all he had talked about was how he was going to personally kill the other members of the anti-Career alliance. He had gone into a lot of detail which wasn't really necessary. Also, he had stared at me the whole time while describing the torturing. Not like I was surprised – after all, I was the fairest of them all – but it had gotten a little creepy when he had persisted in the staring and talking about the Hunger Games.

To be honest, the talk about him torturing everybody had gotten a little boring after a while. He's all talk and no walk so far. Felix at least actually means what he says, having attacked Beryllium and everything. And then slept with me and laughed about it afterwards. I didn't really want to face him in training today but he seemed willing enough to not flaunt our one-night stand. Which was a good thing, because having to talk about that with him would be kind of awkward and I would be doing my best to avoid being anywhere near him in private.

Anyway, it's probably not a good thing being surrounded by two bloodthirsty, highly-trained tributes but I should be safe for now. I'm not sure if Falcon, the District Four boy, is anything like these two. He's barely spoken five words ever since he joined us but he doesn't strike me as the smartest, like Andrew isn't very clever either. Another weakness is that he's too attached to Annabel. I don't know how he's attached to her; it's not in a romantic way, which is great as Felix will probably be rubbing it in my face that he's dating Xenia while Adrian mopes about like a kicked puppy.

Speaking of Adrian, he's not like the other Careers, which makes sense as he isn't one. Yeah, he can swing around a sword and he has some intelligence in him, so what? Who cares that he's in the Career alliance, his District partner is still running around rogue and could be a threat. A minor threat but still a threat. I make a mental note to kill Adrian before he can have his stupid reunion with his supposed girlfriend as I run towards the elevators. Yeah, supposed girlfriend. It's all a sham – not even Andrew would fall for it. It just happens to be that they fall in love conveniently when they both are going into the Games. Like, whatever.

Andrew and my escort are there, "So glad you're here, Heliotrope. Now come along into the elevators dearies," We are shooed into the elevators with a wave of our escort's hand, "Have a wonderful day and happy Hunger Games!" She chirps cheerily. She says that phrase at least twelve times a day, it's really starting to irk me.

There's nobody else in the elevators so when Andrew starts moving closer to me, I'm instantly on my guard.

"So, Heliotrope," He starts, his voice slightly husky in an attempt to be seductive. I bet all the idiotic girls would fall for it but I have no interest in going anywhere near him. I've already had my fair share of sex already and I wasn't in the mood to do it again. He's not even that attractive, to be honest. Aside from being muscled, he's not particularly handsome. His features are plain and to add onto all of this, he's a complete idiot.

"What?" I snap, hoping the elevator doors would open soon so that I could get away.

He smirks at me, "You know the new rule they – "

"It's not a new rule," I point out, "It's been in place for five years. That's hardly a new rule. If you want to talk about a new rule, how about that twist that they introduced yesterday."

He gives me a predatory grin, "You want to know about that new twist then?" He asks me. Something about his smile tells me he knows more about that twist than he's letting on, "I'll show you everything you need to know about that. But it'll come with a price." With one hand, he pushes me against the wall by my neck and no matter how much I struggle, he doesn't even budge.

I always knew he was strong but not this strong. All of those times he's defeated another boy in training and pinned them to the floor run though my head as I squirm under his grip. His reaction is to grin more before tightening the pressure around my neck slowly, cutting off my air supply bit by bit. I've had training as well so I'm stronger than the average girl of my age but it doesn't seem to make a difference when compared to Andrew. Well actually, some of my training time was put aside for lessons on etiquette and how to behave correctly. Well I didn't need those now. In fact, I could have used the training time to get stronger and get my way out of here. He doesn't even seem to notice my attempts to escape him. Was I really that weak that he could knock me over without expecting any resistance?

I take back my earlier statement – he's perfectly willing and capable of killing me. He's not going to now though. He can't, can he? When we threatened Hayliana in the elevators, we weren't really going to break her legs. Well, not then anyway. Evidently he's thinking along the same lines as his grip loosens. Opening his mouth to say something, the 'ding' of the elevator doors opening stop Andrew from adding anything else. Quickly, he pulls back and eyes me maliciously.

"Don't worry, I'll get you later." With a wink and a grin he's gone, out of the elevator before I can stutter a sentence out.

How would he know anything about the twist? Or to be more precise, how did he know about the twist while I was still clueless? We were both tributes, weren't we? Or was he just bluffing in some pathetic attempt to seduce me?

_Don't worry, I'll get you later. _

Somehow, I don't think he was bluffing in that respect. He thinks I'm some scared, submissive little Career that he can push around. The thought makes me so angry, I almost run after him so I can punch his arrogant face into...

Wait, that's perfect! If he thinks that I'm weak, my District partner – the one who was supposed to know me of all the tributes – thought that I was weak, then so would everybody else. I'll act like I'm too obsessed with my appearance to care about training. I'll flirt with every guy that walks by my way, I'll act like I'm actually intimidated by the stronger, fitter and extremely attractive Felix and Andrew. Well I am a little bit scared of Felix but not as much as I'll make myself out to be.

Won't they enjoy it when they realise that the untrained, weak but beautiful Heliotrope slits their throats?

Well, they will do as soon as I learn how to properly slit someone's throat with a knife. It can't be that difficult.


	13. Training, Day Two

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)**

Chapter Twelve

_**Felix Wilds, **_

_**District Two,**_

There's a definite change in the atmosphere today. Namely, when I join the rest of my pack by the table for lunch. Yes, _my _pack. I didn't really give the fools any other option. Even Heliotrope didn't object like she had done last time, which is good. It means she's scared of me. Well she would be, all she can use is a bloody whip and anyone can wave around one of them without much difficulty. She's also completely incompetent with ranged weapons and apparently swords are too heavy to fight with for long. More like she doesn't want to break a fingernail. Last time I had seen her with a sword, she was using it as a mirror to check out her hair.

Very practical.

I had allowed her to stay in the alliance nonetheless, even though she is the whiniest Career that I have ever met. I was planning on keeping my side of the 'bargain' we had made last night. I smile to myself in satisfaction as I remembered yesterday. She was such an idiot; did she really think that I was just going to let her run the Careers just because she had offered herself to me? I could have done better with Xenia. Well, maybe 'could' was the wrong word to use, I _had _done better with my girlfriend. At least Xenia knew when to shut the hell up and get on with it. Heliotrope – on the other hand – would not stop screaming my name though the entire thing. I was half-expecting Xenia to burst though the doors and catch me but she didn't. It would have been awkward trying to explain to Xenia why Heliotrope and I were in the same bed with no clothes on. Actually, I'm pretty sure that Xenia would use me as target practice for her knife-throwing in the blink of an eye if she had stumbled in.

Not like she needed the practice – she had pin-point accuracy when it came to knives which wasn't something to be sniffed at. It definitely beat Heliotrope. I had overheard her asking the instructor how you held a knife. I had literally face-palmed when I heard her say that. Even the tributes from Eleven could do better than that, which was saying something as they were barely capable of defending themselves with a knife. Those mediocre skills would be nothing against me or Xenia, of course, but they were far superior to Heliotrope's ability. If it wasn't for the fact that the anti-Career alliance had too many tributes to defeat with only three or four tributes that were actually _trained, _I would have made plans to rip her apart in the bloodbath. But I wasn't going to. Well if she was a non-Career, she'd be a nuisance although she already is one. And we – 'we' being me and Xenia – need more cannon fodder in case the anti-Careers do have the guts to attack us. Well I guess I'll find out when my sword rips them apart as they pleaded for their lives. Bored, I observed the other tributes that would all soon be dead, noting any changes in their behaviour.

The anti-Careers are still being their obnoxious selves: shouting defiance at us, going to the weaponry stations while we're there to show that they aren't scared of us, shoving the other loners over. Although when the Twelve boy tried pushing the guy from Six, he happened to find himself hanging from the roof of a shelter the girl from Twelve had constructed by his pants. He – the Twelve weakling – hadn't tried that trick again and today he was acting more subdued, contrasting with yesterday's behaviour of acting like his betters. He wasn't the only one whose attitude had changed overnight.

Heliotrope was on edge and kept constantly glancing up at the clock fearfully. Her hot pink fingernails kept tapping the table in anxiety while Andrew sneered at her. Every time he does so, I noticed her flinch slightly. I wonder what happened there. Well, I didn't really have to wonder too much. I bet all Andrew had to do was flex his muscles at her and she'd be scared for her life. She was way too easy to scare; I had barely done anything to her yesterday and it had been enough to shut her up. Looks like Heliotrope wasn't going to be any fun to mess around with. As soon as I had started on her, she had given up. Any sparks of defiance she had left would have probably been snuffed out by whatever Andrew had said or done.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

He, at least, hadn't lost his arrogance overnight, much to the misfortune of myself. I didn't really want to hear about how many times he had met the mayor of District One or how he had ''accidentally'' bludgeoned some kid to death when he was eight. Clumsy, arrogant and used to having everything handed to him on a silver platter. He wouldn't last too long either, relying too much on strength alone to be of much use. That just made him easier to kill off later. And I'll enjoy it too. Huh, to think that District One were supposed to be a Career district. The two volunteers they had provided this year were definitely not as threatening as they should be. Such a shame, I had barely any competition within my alliance and they were supposed to be the Careers, the best of the best. Well I just happened to be the best out of all of them.

Like Heliotrope, Xenia wasn't saying a lot either. She had been next to silent to me at breakfast and I had quickly figured out something was going on with her. She was either trading looks between Adrian and Andrew or scrutinising me intently. She had been like this for a while, similar to how Heliotrope was acting now, but when I had quizzed her about it she had evaded all of my questions. I might not know what it was but she was hiding something.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

There wasn't an awful lot of difference when it came to Adrian, as far as I know. Yesterday he had been on the verge of having a panic attack when I had attacked Beryllium. If Xenia's word was anything to go by. Personally I didn't see this as I was spending my time hand-cuffed to a chair thinking over the numerous amount of ways I was going to make Little Miss Cocky pay for managing to escape and leave me there. In any case, Adrian hasn't said a word, just staring at his hands like they're about to explode. And when he's not doing that, he's stumbling around the place, running into people, tripping over objects that he should have noticed, like he's got shell-shock. If he doesn't get at eight or higher in training, he'll have to go. So will Heliotrope if she doesn't manage to do well. Never mind the anti-Careers, maintaining the Career reputation was also important. Anyway, I can kill off a good chunk of those idiots at the bloodbath. We'll see how high and mighty they are when there's only four or five of them left on the first day.

Tap, tap, tap, tap. I was thinking of what I was going to do at the bloodbath when Heliotrope's nails distract me.

"Could you stop that?" I snap at her, clearly not in the mood to listen to the sound of acrylic nails against a plastic table. Was anyone?

Heliotrope practically jumps five feet from her chair, "Sorry." She manages to get out before – casting one last glance at Andrew – getting up and dashing to the toilets. Xenia is quick to follow although I think her reasoning for heading that direction is different to Heliotrope's.

"She's pathetic." Andrew comments once she's out of hearing range. Looking around, I notice that the District Four tributes are mysteriously absent. I raise an eyebrow at him. She is his District partner, after all. He notices this and continues, "Trust me, she's just a mommy's girl."

"I do believe you mean that she's a daddy's girl. She's just a daddy's girl. Isn't that the correct term?" I pour myself a glass of water while he munches his way though the food in the fruit bowl at an alarming rate.

He shakes his head, "No, her mum's the victor for the Hunger Games. Can't remember which one. Do you remember Stunner?" He asks around a mouthful of pear. When I nod he continues, "Stunner De Costar. Heliotrope is her daughter."

"Huh," I say, "Haven't heard much of her, to be fair."

Andrew smirks, "Well that's not going to change for you."

I immediately see what he's trying to do but feign ignorance, "And what is that supposed to mean?" I inquire in a deliberately meaningful tone.

His smirk fades a little bit at my response, "Just that you're not going to be around to see if Stunner does – "

I cut him off, "Andrew, if anyone's going to be seeing Stunner it's me. I hope you got the chance to meet her in the Justice Building because the next time you'll be seeing her is if she decides to attend your funeral." I give him a nasty smile, "I doubt she'll bother though."

Andrew looks furious, "Just you wait Felix," He growls softly at me, "Just you wait until the arena. You'll regret threatening me like that." He clenches his fists. He's about to add more but Heliotrope's return stops him. It's only then that I notice Adrian staring at me and Andrew with a strange sort of interest. He notices me watching him and gives me a smile. I'm not sure how our discussion contributed to the revival of his good mood but that smile is not a reassuring one.

...

Looking around, I observe what all the other tributes are doing after our lunch is over. The other Careers were at the weaponry stations, trying to dishearten the competition before the Games had even begun. Beryllium was at the edible plants station, scowling at a berry before putting it in the 'poisonous' section. Immediately the instructor launches into a lecture over how she's wrong and she fires back a retort that appeared to have been anything but complimentary. An argument ensues while the District Eleven boy laughs. This doesn't seem to please Beryllium as she picks up a bunch of different berries and mashes them into the Eleven boy's face. This only sets off another argument. Meanwhile, Naomi, Evelyn and Natalie – the girls from Districts Five, Seven and Ten respectively – are flinging pots of paint at each other over by the camouflage section while giggling. What was this, Girl Guides? Their male counterparts, Sam and two other weaklings whose names escape me, are arguing with Flint, the boy from Six, over by the maces station. The fragile Eight weakling is babbling on about something to an annoyed-looking Hayliana while over by the knives station, the Nine tributes – Bailey and Jack – are engaged in a knife throwing contest with Adele and the rest of the anti-Careers, which happens to be the Eight boy and the tributes from Twelve. Jack beats everybody else by miles and Adele stomps her foot before leaving with her allies.

Things appeared to not be going well for most of the tributes. At this rate, everybody would be killing everyone else before I got a chance.

"Felix," I can see Xenia calling me over to the sword-fighting station, "Why don't you show Annabel how to hold a sword correctly?" Under her request, I sense something else that isn't anything to do with helping the girl. Xenia might look like she was fine, with a smile on her face and her eyes bright but I could see though her. And boy, did Xenia look pissed. Her smile was too tight, too wide, too fake, and her eyes blazed under her calm façade, "Sure," I say, strolling over to where Annabel appears to be struggling to pick up one of the heavier swords. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes at her lack of strength, I pick up a lighter one and give it to use, "Try this one." I inform her. She doesn't seem to hear me so I grab her wrist and wave the sword in front of her, "Use this sword."

Annabel blinks at me rapidly before dropping her sword. It hits the ground with a clatter which appears to irritate her as she puts her hands over her ears. Trying not to lose my patience, I continue to hold out my sword until she finally picks it up.

Man, if she reacts this slowly to a simple instruction, she's not going to last long in the arena. It's also going to prove extremely irritating. I notice how she's holding it and decide to continue instructing her, "You don't hold it like that. You need to hold the hilt looser so you can wield it more efficiently," I give my advice in simple sentences so she doesn't get too confused, "Never turn the edge of a sword to the person you're fighting. You're aiming to be in a position to attack and defend, not just stab." I pick up the sword Annabel dropped and use it to decapitate a dummy in the same motion. It goes clean though and the dummy's head falls to the floor a second later. Although it's a simple move for me to perform, Annabel is staring at me like I've grown wings. Tears pool in her eyes and she collapses before I can do anything else.

Falcon notices and is over in an instant, shooting me daggers all the while.

"What?" I growl. It's not like I had intentionally made her collapse. In fact, I hadn't even done anything except practise my sword-fighting skills on a stupid dummy. Why should I apologise?

Falcon says nothing, just continues to send me hostile looks as he picks up his District partner and goes over to the instructor at the first aid station. The way he holds Annabel in his arms is so gentle, making sure that she's in no pain or in any sort of discomfort. I notice the concerned looks he gives her, note the way his hard, silent demeanour softens when she's around. Has he always been like that to her? Having to stop her making an idiot of herself in front of the rest of the world? I know I should feel sorry if he does but I don't. It just means that Falcon is one less threat I have to worry about since I have Annabel in my grasp now. He'll do whatever I want him to if it ensures Annabel's safety for one more day, not like it'll make any difference in the end. She'll still end up going home via hovercraft in a wooden coffin. In pieces, if I have any say in it.

When he leaves, I'm left with Xenia who's glaring daggers at me. I turn to her, "Can I help you?"

She puts her hands on her hips in one of those silly poses that woman tended to do to make themselves feel more powerful or whatever, "Did you have any _fun_ last night?" Xenia spits out at me. Her eyes flicker to something behind me and I catch on immediately.

"How did you find out about that?" I ask her calmly, knowing this would only make Xenia more riled up than she already was, which was quite entertaining to watch since I knew she couldn't – and wouldn't – touch me. Well, she wouldn't try and hurt me. However, I was surprised that she had found out so quickly. Heliotrope must have personally informed Xenia herself. Well that was one of the stupidest things that she could have done and I was going to make sure that she paid with every beat of her heart once I get her all alone. With her last breath, she'll regret ratting me out to Xenia, don't you worry about that.

She looks close to exploding, "Heliotrope told me," She snaps, looking over behind me at where Heliotrope must be. I can only imagine the look of triumph on her pretty little face. I turn around and sure enough, it's Heliotrope, looking almost as sexy as yesterday. However, her appeal was ruined slightly by the boring training suit she was wearing. Xenia's next question diverts my attention from checking out Heliotrope back to my official girlfriend, "Wait, you're not even going to deny it?"

"Why? Were you expecting me to?" I try and keep the smug smile that is threatening to make an appearance off my face. If I didn't, it would give away the fact that I found this whole situation amusing. That would annoy Xenia enough for her to try and punch me. She hated it when I made a joke out of her feelings. Xenia really shouldn't be offended at that; I did that to every girl that wanted me, mess around with their feelings and laugh about it when they shouted to me about it afterwards. With some girls, this only made them want me even more while with others, I had to pretend to be sorry. I much preferred it when the first option happened because then the chances of me screwing around with them both mentally and physically were much more likely.

The only response I get is in the form of a scowl, at least for a few seconds, "Felix, why did you do it?" Her voice is quieter and she sounds like somebody has just attempted to throttle her. Her eyes, those amazingly brilliant blue eyes looked hurt, although she won't look at me directly in the eyes so I'm not entirely certain if this was the case.

I don't see why Xenia was getting so worried. It's not like I actually cared about Heliotrope or anything. There wasn't any reason to. Sure, she might be attractive but she was too high-maintenance for me. I imagined having to kiss her and reassure Heliotrope that I wasn't going to cheat on her, having to spend all of my time looking after her when I had an alliance to manage. And since everything I did in the arena would be on film, I couldn't exactly try and sleep with her again, what with me going out with Xenia and all that. Well, as I had said earlier, Heliotrope would be hardly any fun to play with anyway. Sure, she was great for a one-night stand if you had a pair of earplugs but that wasn't good enough for me. She was way too easy to sleep with, far too easy to get with and Heliotrope wouldn't resist me. Xenia did, she didn't just meekly go along with everything I do. That was part of why I liked her so much. Not too submissive but she wasn't too rebellious. Xenia knew when to give up. It was the perfect mixture. And I didn't have to kill her.

Although it would be fun making Heliotrope think that I cared about her before stabbing her in the stomach with my sword. Watching her eyes flash with pain from me betraying her and from her wound. Laughing as I take out the blood-covered sword and wave it tauntingly in front of Heliotrope, letting a few drops of her blood drip onto her face as she stares wide-eyed at me. Yeah, that would be fun. However, I doubted that was going to happen since I had pushed Heliotrope away. Oh well, I couldn't betray her trust but I could still torture her. I couldn't wait to start.

The tapping on my shoulder brings me away from my fantasy of hurting the District One girl and I react without thinking, grabbing the hand tapping me and yanking at it, pulling Xenia closer to me so that our faces are mere inches apart. She looks startled at my spontaneous movement but she really shouldn't be. After years of training, this kind of thing is second nature to me. If I want to live in the arena then my reflexes needed to be sharp.

Her look of sadness doesn't dissipate though, "Aren't you going to answer my question?"

I raise an eyebrow, "Do you really think that I actually care about her?" I ask her scornfully, "You must be crazy. Why would I choose her over you?" Since one of my hands still imprisons her wrist, I use my free hand to lightly trace my fingers down her cheek, feeling her skin beneath my fingertips.

She bites her lip nervously, "Well she is pretty…" Xenia trails off, lost in thought for a moment before returning to the matter at hand, "Really Felix, why did you sleep with her?"

Backing away a step, I shrug, "Nothing major. She walked into the main room, crawled on top of me and practically begged me to sleep with her," Well, she hadn't actually begged but she had must have wanted me to pretty badly if she was ripping at my clothes before I had said three sentences to her. I smirk at Xenia as I add, "I just happened to be feeling charitable, that's all. And it didn't hurt that she happened to be wearing that dress." Every last word in my final sentence was pointed. If I knew Xenia, she would be running around trying to find a dress similar to Heliotrope's one. Which was precisely what I wanted her to do. If she wanted me then she had better work for me. Despite my words, I don't give to the less fortunate.

"Dress?" She inquires, sounding more interested now that clothes were involved in this discussion.

"Oh yes, it was quite a simple dress. Black with no patterns on it. And very very short." I smirk at her, trying to imagine Xenia wearing the dress. The mental image that pops into mind is definitely an appealing one.

She laughs lightly, knowing exactly what I wanted her to wear, "I'll keep that in mind then." I laugh along with her.

"I'm sure you will," I lean in and whisper. The implied _you had better keep that in mind now that you've suggested it _was clear in my voice, judging by the unsure, hesitant smile that crosses her face, "I'm sure there'll be a nicer alternative in the wardrobe somewhere." I continue. I would have offered her Heliotrope's dress but the annoying girl from One had taken it after she realised that she had been outplayed.

"I'm sure there will be." She repeats. Her eyes flicker away from me and I turn around to see the District Four tributes entering the room.

I roll my eyes, "Oh brilliant, here come the idiots that are supposed to be trained killers." This is a reference to Falcon and Annabel who are walking our way.

Xenia puts on a sympathetic smile that's as real as plastic, "Aw, is ickle Annabel okay?" She asks mockingly, "Did our likkle baby get a paper cut today?"

Falcon just glares at me and Xenia but doesn't say anything as he helps Annabel move away from us. Yeah, helps. Little Miss Annabel can't even walk properly without assistance. She is that pathetic.

When they're out of hearing range, I grin wickedly at Xenia. With Annabel tethering Falcon down, they'll be simple to eliminate once they have outlived their usefulness. The only real threat in this alliance except from me and Xenia was Adrian. His district partner was plenty capable of causing trouble on her own and Adrian wasn't exactly incompetent. I push aside the thought of a tribute from _District Three _ever being a threat. As soon as I managed to get his district partner in the arena and kill her, I would have effectively destroyed any chances of District Three having their sixth living victor. Yes, six. That was almost as many as District Two had now, which was definitely not a good sign.

She gives me a knowing smile back, like she can read my mind, "I don't think District Four are going to have a victor this year."

"If Annabel keeps being like that and Falcon compromising himself to help her, I don't think they will either, not like they would have done anyway."

Xenia grins, seeming to have forgotten the reason that she had called me over here. I'm not stupid enough to think that she'll just drop the subject on something as 'important' as me sleeping with Heliotrope. No, I'm sure I'll hear no end of that after the training is over, where fewer people will be likely to overhear her, "Well with us here, they don't stand a chance. When was the last time District Four had a victor?"

I think about this, "I dare say that District Four haven't had a victor in about sixteen, seventeen years now. Make that eighteen after this year's Hunger Games end." I smirk.

Xenia giggles, "Well of course," She edges closer to me, "I can't wait for the moment we become victors."

"It definitely beats being a tribute." I point out. No silly, insignificant little Capitol citizen would dare dream of ordering me around when I would be the first joint victor the Hunger Games had ever produced. I could imagine us walking down the streets of the Capitol now, waving and smiling at our adoring fans. Xenia would be wearing a red dress, I knew that much. She loved the colour red and I didn't disagree with her on that point – red complimented her beautifully. She loved red because it was a fashionable colour and she looked nice wearing red. I liked the colour red as well, but for a slightly different reason as to Xenia's fashion-led one.

Xenia says something else but I miss it as I spot a tribute from the anti-Careers on their own, dunking a slice of pita bread in some dip until it's saturated. Now is a perfect opportunity to strike. Pushing Xenia aside, I make my way over to the District Eight girl, a temporarily affronted Xenia immediately catching on to what I'm going to do and following me.

The Eight girl notices us before I reach her and I note with satisfaction the way her face falls. I shove her over and she reacts too late to prevent her hand being plunged into the vat of dip that is next to her.

"So cute, the little baby can fetch her own food now," I sneer at her in a patronising voice, "Too bad she can't even do that without making a mess."

"Babies in District Eight don't eat that kind of thing," Xenia says in a voice full of feigned concern while the Eight girl sullenly bites into the soggy piece of bread, the creamy dip dripping down her arm like sap, "It's too expensive for our darling child here." Xenia ruffles the girl's hair while laughing. It's true; the food here was not a pricey thing to buy in District Two but in the lower Districts it would be a different story.

"Place your bets, what do you think her score's going to be?" I snigger while nudging the girl with my foot. She continues to ignore us, preferring to keep chewing while staring off into the distance.

"Hmm, I would definitely give her a three. Do you think that you can get a three, little baby? Is a three too hard for you?" Xenia says in a condescending tone, pinching the girl's cheek hard.

"I wouldn't know," The girl replies in a babyish voice, focusing her eyes on us at last, "Like, maybe I could get a four if I try very very _very _hard." She smiles at us angelically while we both scowl.

"I would advice you to not play that game, little girl. Don't try and act smart."

"Why?" She pretends to pout, "Am I not allowed to play your game? After all, I am just a silly little baby, aren't I?" Smiling at us, she skips off, the dip from her slice of pita bread making a trail on the polished wooden floor as she does so.

I can hear laughter coming from the other anti-Careers. Turning around, I notice almost all the tributes staring at us. The anti-Careers are pointing and laughing at me and Xenia, the Careers from One are whispering conspiratorially while the Four tributes are as still as statues. The other loners are continuing with their business but I can see Beryl holding back a laugh while exchanging amused glances with Flint and Hayliana.

That's twice now that a tribute's made a fool of me in front of the other tributes. That's two times too many.


	14. Twisted

**Hi, I'm back from my holiday with a longer chapter to make up for the delay. Do tell me if you think that the events that happen in this chapter are okay or if you think it's too extreme etc, it's kind of important.  
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**Anyway, enjoy :)  
**

* * *

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)**

Chapter Thirteen

**_Third Person_**

"_The second day of training is now over. Please remain calm and make your way over to the elevators. Thank you." _

With a slight burst of static, the announcement is cut off as the tributes make their way over to the elevators with varying levels of calmness. The Career tributes are reluctant to leave behind the weapons but at the same time, they are eager to receive their training scores tomorrow. Some of the weaker tributes from the Anti-Career alliance quickly hurry over in a huddle to the first elevator, splitting away from the rest of their group in a futile attempt to evade the Careers.

No luck for them; Felix, Xenia and Andrew notice them and follow the small group of tributes, a predatory look in their eyes as they watch the blood drain out of their faces. Heliotrope looks oddly relieved as she watches them leave while the Four tributes don't even notice the dispersal of the other Careers as they walk over to the second elevator. Joining them were the Three tributes, Beryl skipping along while laughing loudly with Adrian, who was slightly more subtle in his approach compared to Beryl's in-your-face attitude. The more bold of the anti-Careers were acting rowdily while pointing and laughing at the other tributes. Many unpleasant looks were exchanged between them and the others as the tributes started to leave. Chatter died, tensions dimmed and the light pouring in from the windows showed nothing but scuffle marks and dust marring the Training Centre when the final tribute had departed. Tomorrow would be the day where the anxious tributes were showcased in front of the Game-makers. What secrets this will reveal about the tribute nobody knows yet, but drama doesn't always happen during the Games.

In the District One compartments, where the furniture turns into a spectrum of colours when the light hits the gems adorning them, trouble was brewing for the spoilt District One girl, Heliotrope de Costar. She is standing in her bedroom, admiring her hair while working hard to made sure that she remained the main object of the Capitolite men's desires, not that she had considered the consequences of tempting the men in such a way. If you know what that means.

Currently, she was obsessing over the possibility of split ends. Nobody considered split ends fashionable, not even the scruffy rogues from District Twelve thought that they were acceptable so the Capitol would never let her get away with having them. Thankfully, her beautiful long hair would be redone and exquisitely decorated with gems and glitter dust into a divine work of art anybody would covert. Well, they surely would before the Interviews. She's worrying about if her baby-soft skin would be marred in the slightest way. Of course, she'd already had surgery to eliminate the plague of freckles that had once ruined her features. But what was one supposed to do when you woke up in the morning and realised that you could no longer revel in her beauty, could no longer stare at her undisturbed because of the red bullseye that had decided to nest on your cheek or on your nose? What could you do when a spot appeared?

When that happened, when a troublesome spot decided to appear, then none of Heliotrope's other features made any difference to people not noticing the spot. It didn't matter that she had the most gorgeous chocolatey brown eyes, framed by long eyelashes that curled slightly at the ends, did it? Her skin, which was smooth and pale like milk, didn't make any difference either. Actually, having such pale skin only made a spot more notable. And as for her blonde hair which lit up everybody's world like a ray of sunshine? That didn't make her beautiful if she had a mere spot on her cheek.

Ignoring the fact that sunshine is actually white because Heliotrope doesn't know that. Who would ever need to know what colour the sunshine was when you could be learning about how to impress the President with your impeccable manners?

Anyway, that wasn't relevant. What was important, however, was making sure that a spot didn't ruin all of her hard work. That's why she was ex-foliating her face with this newfangled cream stuff her escort swore would keep your skin silky and flawless. So long as you applied it liberally twice a day, that was. Well, she was doing just that, making sure it was probably rubbed in so that the only clue to the fact that she was wearing the cream was her skin on her face being unnaturally shiny. It wasn't even that obvious; the less than observant people wouldn't even realise it.

Such as Andrew Phillips, the only person who Heliotrope would be able to trust once the gong had rung.

However, Heliotrope was currently having a hard time putting any faith into her District partner. This wasn't anything to do with the fact that he had somehow managed to sneak up behind her, grab her with both hands on Heliotrope's waist and spin her around several times. No, not at all. Before Heliotrope could comprehend the fact that Andrew had made her spill some of the cream stuff on her outfit, he flung her onto the bed and smirks at her.

"Remember what I told you earlier?" He asks her, taking satisfaction at the sudden alarm that was stark evident on her features.

Heliotrope nods, "What about it?" Her voice was strained in an effort to make it stop trembling.

Andrew walks over to Heliotrope and lies on the bed next to her, clasping a hand to one of Heliotrope's wrists, "I told you I was going to get you later and here we are." His other hand moves up her arm and around her shoulder until he's in reach of a few strands of blonde hair.

"What do you want?" Heliotrope's attempt at sounding fierce falls flat when her voice shakes mid-question. Chuckling, Andrew twirls a piece of her hair around his finger, a contemplative expression crossing his face as he stares down at her.

"What on earth could you mean?" Andrew inquires with mock innocence while raising an eyebrow "I thought you wanted to know about the new twist. I was going to tell you, wasn't I?" His hand moves down to Heliotrope's neck and starts to run his hand though her hair, ruining the meticulously brushed masquerade of hair that Heliotrope had spent many, many hours straightening and preening to her standards of perfection, "Of course, I don't pay out favours for free now, that wouldn't benefit me at all."

"Look, if you're looking to try and sleep with me, I'm telling – " The sceptical look on Andrew's face stops her mid-sentence.

"Now why would I want to do that?" He asks in a condescending tone that irritates Heliotrope. Her irritation fades as he carries on, to be replaced by nervousness, "I wouldn't look at you like that if you were the last girl in Panem." His voice drips with scorn as his hand, once running though Heliotrope's hair so carefully, stops moving, grabs a fistful of her hair and gives it a vicious tug. She gasps, more because of her disbelief and less to do with pain.

"That is my hair," She shrieks in an eerily Capitol-like pitch, fear quickly reverted back to indignation, "Do you know how long it took me to make it look perfect?"

"I don't know and I really don't care," He continues to pull until his hand breaks free, covered in threads of gold from Heliotrope's head. Disgusted, he brushes the hair from his fingers and watches it fall onto the elaborate bedsheets, "All I know is that I'm going to make you pay."

"Why?" The one-word question is a gasp of horror as Heliotrope sees her hair caught in Andrew's grip. Her eyes are fixated onto Andrew's hand.

"Why?" He practically snarls at her, "Don't you remember, darling? That night when we were at your house?" When the only response he gets from her is a blank stare that communicates a gigantic question mark, he scowls at her.

"Really? You were that drunk?" He snaps at her.

"And yet I still have no idea what you're talking about." Heliotrope says defensively.

He slaps her, "Stop denying it, there's nothing you can do about it now. It's not like Melamine is here to hear you, is it? She wouldn't say that you hadn't done anything." Andrew gets up from the bed and stares down contemptuously at his District partner, "And if you really don't remember that night," His voice shows his doubt about Heliotrope's lack of memory by putting emphasis on the word _don't_, "Then I guess I'll have to enlighten you."

The thing was, Heliotrope _did _remember. She remembers what she had done. Although she wasn't totally lying, if truth be told. She might remember what she had done. But why had she done it? Not a clue.

_Two thirty in the morning on a February night and Heliotrope and one of her friends were just leaving a house after partying. Both of them were drunk and were not thinking or acting how they usually would. Although there was, and still is, some speculation amongst the gossipers of District One that one could hardly tell the difference between sober Heliotrope and drunk Heliotrope. Heliotrope's friend was significantly more sober but still not entirely unaffected. _

_Surrounding the house was a iron gate with spikes on top, which only contributed to the impression that Heliotrope and her friend were leaving a castle. Heliotrope was wearing a black dress which would be light, airy and simple in nature if it wasn't for the multi-coloured gems threaded into the fabric that weighed Heliotrope down. Needless to say, she was not difficult to find when you added the strobe lighting. Her companion, Striking Tanner, was wearing a glittery pink dress that seemed basic next to Heliotrope's extravagant clothing, but it was just as eye-catching when it caught the light. _

_Despite the muted thud thud thud of the music beat pumping out of the speakers, accompanied by a faded mumbling that Heliotrope presumed to be the singer, the two girls could still hear a buzzing sound coming from the depths of Striking's handbag, which followed the same glitzy pink theme as her dress. With her vision blurring, Heliotrope couldn't tell that the sparkly pink object in Striking's hand wasn't part of the handbag._

"_Striking," Heliotrope asked, sounding very confused, "Why are you tearing out chunks of your bag and holding it to your ear?"_

_Striking gave her an odd look, "It's my mobile phone. You know, not part of the bag itself." Turning her head away, she nods and goes hmm a few times to her mobile phone before hanging up and sighing in relief. Then her head darted around as if she was looking for something. Striking's eyes then settle on a red convertible and a smile crossed her face. Ignoring her supposed friend, Striking started to walk over to the front gates. However, Heliotrope had over ideas._

"_Where are you going?" She slurred, clumsily grabbing Striking's arm but failing and she ends up falling over a few feet away from Striking. _

_Striking gave a dismissive glance at the drunken Heliotrope lying on the floor, struggling to clamber up, before continuing to walk away, "I have to go home now, Michael's waiting over there," She gestured with one hand over to where the red convertible is, "See you tomorrow."_

_The possibility of Striking offering a lift so Heliotrope could get home was not very high at the best of times and at this point in time, Striking was not in the mood to heft someone's drunken ass back to their house. She wanted some personal time with her boyfriend and having to help out Heliotrope would limit the amount of time she got with Michael._

_Heliotrope – now on her own two feet – pouted, being unaware of Striking's intentions. Instead, she's trying to look sad but she's not really caring. Her indifference is cracked when she realised that she doesn't have a arranged ride back home._

"_Wait!" She called out but Striking doesn't respond before getting into her car, exchanging a few words with Michael and driving away._

_Heliotrope is left standing, or trying to stay standing, in the middle of a party. She's three miles from home, has no phone as some random guy took it while they were making out with Heliotrope, and doesn't have any money to hire a taxi. Somewhere in her brain, which wasn't the brightest when she was drunk but it still functioned somewhat, Heliotrope knew that going up to the nearest stranger and asking for a lift home was not a smart idea. But all of her other friends had left the party by that point and Heliotrope didn't really have any other options left. _

_Unless she wanted to walk home, which didn't seem very desirable either as it was a) three miles and b) all the sticky mud and that stuff on the pavements would ruin her six-inch high-heels. They were brand-new as well and although they would probably get ruined eventually, not to mention that Heliotrope could afford a new pair, she didn't really want to get mud on them. It was so much hassle ordering a pair of shoes._

_It's with those important (to Heliotrope) rules of logic in her mind that she walked up to Andrew and asked if he could be so kind as to give poor old her a lift back to her house in Victor's Village._

_Andrew – although Heliotrope didn't know his name then – looked at Heliotrope up-and-down before smirking, "Sure thing, sweetheart," He offered a hand and Heliotrope took it without hesitation. Andrew escorted her to what is presumably his car. It was a dark blue Lamborghini, gleaming in the street-lights to perfection. Heliotrope notices this._

"_I love your car." She purred as she runs a hand down the sides, admiring the feel of the sleek metal against her fingertips, "I have one just like it."_

_Andrew chuckled as he opened the passenger door for Heliotrope to stumble in, "I take it your family are rich then." His eyes look hungrily over at Heliotrope as he says those words._

"_Very," She practically yawned out the word, not knowing why Andrew should care if she was rich or not. Everybody was rich in District One, or so the newspapers said. Her thoughts drift from wealth and money to Andrew's behaviour, to how nice and courteous he was being. She failed to notice that although Andrew was acting pleasant, there was a lazy smile on his face while he performed the necessary actions. Heliotrope did not catch the twinkling in his eyes. The twinkling of greed behind his ordinary brown eyes._

_It had certainly never occurred to her that not every boy she met would fall for her physical charms, that not every boy looked at a girl that way._

_Andrew got into the driver's seat, "Where do you live?" He asked her. Said girl was giggling, her mind in the midst of alcohol while kicking her feet around like a demented puppet. He looked slightly irritated, if the clenching of his jaw was anything to go by, and shook Heliotrope by the shoulders, "Hello? Heliotrope?"_

_Like she had been awoken from a nightmare, she jerked forwards and her arms flailed around. They are quickly stopped by Andrew before she can accidentally slap him in the face, "How the hell did you know my name?" She managed to get out, but she didn't bother moving her mouth enough to enunciate the words properly. Consequently, it sounds like she was saying one really long word._

_Somehow Andrew realised what she had asked, "Heliotrope, everybody knows who you are." He smiled at her reassuringly to match his gentle tone._

"_Oh yeah, sure, of course they do. I knew that." She giggled again, "Don't you know that I live in Victor's Village? Everybody should know that."_

"_Just checking." He replied calmly as he turned the engine on, "You never know where some people want to go."_

_Andrew continues to ask Heliotrope questions about herself, most of which are answered with varying levels of coherency. It's not a particularly long process, since travelling three miles in a Lamborghini doesn't take too long under normal circumstances._

"_Were you with anybody at the party?" He asked when Heliotrope had remained still for more than twenty seconds, presuming that she had calmed down now._

_She nodded, "Yeah, do you know Striking? She was supposed to give me a lift back home but she left me," Heliotrope pouted, "I don't think she's a very good friend." She continued, sounding like a child with her petulant tone of voice._

"_No, I guess not." Andrew replied vaguely before looking at Heliotrope again and noticing her possessions. Or rather, lack of them. "Didn't you bring a bag?" He asked._

"_Yeah, but some other guy took it," The impact of having somebody steal her handbag hadn't quite caught up with Heliotrope yet, "Now I have to get a new phone, driving license and replace my favourite lipstick. I can never find the right shade of lipstick anywhere." True to form, Heliotrope was more concerned about having to replace her lipstick than having to add all of her contacts onto a new phone or having to go though the stress of getting a new driving license._

_He looked slightly surprised at Heliotrope's dismissive tone, "Didn't you have to pay to get in?"_

"_Oh yeah, sure," She replied off-handedly, "That's all I took though. The drinks were free."_

"_It shows," He muttered as he eases off the speed, although Heliotrope did not catch those two words. The two would-be tributes had arrived at Victor's Village and Andrew parked outside Heliotrope's house. Although the housing in District One was anything but shabby, the mansions that resided at Victor's Village made anything else built look pathetic and cheap in comparison. Heliotrope's house was nested on top of a hill, snug in the palms of a leafy green forest. Picturesque pink and blue flowers dotted the hills in seemingly random bunches. The building was a good four storeys high but it seemed like less due to its immense width. Paired with the clerestory windows, the marble archway that covered the oak door in shadows and the wind-worn bricks that all fit neatly together to make the house, it could have been something out of a fairytale story. But it wasn't._

"_Here we are." Andrew said cheerfully, "Do you want me to help you to the door?" He asked her, noting that in her current state she wouldn't manage to climb up the hill on her own. Heliotrope nodded enthusiastically and Andrew helped her out of the car. She stumbled slightly but placed a hand on his shoulder and uses this to steady herself. Using this as support, she slowly walked up the pathway leading to the de Costar mansion, Andrew's arm on her waist providing more support for her. However, her self-absorbed mind, fuzzy and numb with the alcohol, gets the wrong end of the stick from this._

"_Ta so much," Heliotrope giggled, "So much appreciated." She sent a smile in Andrew's direction._

_He just shrugged it off so he appears modest, "It's nothing. Just glad to help." He returned her smile, expecting her to give him something in return for his services. Something like money._

_Heliotrope played with her hair while not making eye contact with Andrew. She bit her lip slightly, "Well I can't just let you help me without returning the favour." Before Andrew can ask what she means by this, her lips are touching his as her arms connected together behind Andrew's back to steady herself. Nothing seemed to matter to her except kissing the nice guy who helped her and deserved to be treated so by her, Heliotrope de Costar, as his reward. He should be flattered. Caught off guard, he didn't try and fight back for a few seconds. Secretly, he was enjoying the kiss as much as Heliotrope was, taking advantage of the fact that she probably wouldn't have any recollection of what she was doing by tomorrow. He might as well kiss her back. A fact that wouldn't go unnoticed by any casual viewer of this scene. _

"_Andrew!" A shrill voice interrupted the two and Andrew hastily disentangled himself from Heliotrope's grip. She stumbled slightly as a girl appeared from around the corner of the mansion. The new-comer was a fine example of natural beauty in District One (which was rare in the district of plastic surgery) having had no enchantments made on her. Her chestnut brown hair was lush and radiant from using the Capitol hair conditioners, her skin was healthy-looking and sun-kissed and her dark green eyes were her natural eye colour. A simple, dark brown sun-dress completed her innocent, natural-looking style. _

_Despite the fact it was quite a cold February night, she did not appear to notice in her anger at Andrew, "What do you think you're doing making out with that slut?" She spat out the last word of her question as her green eyes bore holes into him. Said guy was wearing the look most people wear when they had been caught doing something they shouldn't have been doing. The hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar look of guilt and shame._

"_Melamine, I can explain – " Andrew started off but she isn't in the mood to listen._

"_Don't bother trying. Unless you can explain what the hell is wrong with you," Melamine screeched. Any effects her appearance may have on anybody is instantly undone the moment you hear her voice, which tended to have the same effect on eardrums as nails scraping across a blackboard, "You already have a girlfriend. Me!" She poked a thumb at herself before putting her hands on her hips and glaring, "Well consider yourself single then." She huffed while tossing her hair._

"_Melamine please, it wasn't what it – "_

"_Stop saying my name," Melamine screamed melodramatically, "If you want to screw around with her," She added unnecessary venomous emphasis on 'her', "Then go right ahead. See if I care. Hope she's worth it." With that, she twirled around on her high heels and walks away back to her house at Victor's Village, distraught. All she was doing was dropping off a package that her father had wanted to give to Stunner de Costar. So she had done that and then had to witness her supposed boyfriend sucking face with the District bitch, Heliotrope._

_Well screw him, she wasn't going to let that lying cheat near her ever again. Who knew how many times he had done that while dating her? He had probably made her look like such a fool. Melamine could imagine him laughing about how naïve and pathetic she was while he was with his friends. Well guess what? He wouldn't be getting to make an idiot out of her again. Instead, he could go and do whatever he wanted with that idiot Heliotrope. Ugh, Melamine hated her, prancing around like she was better than everybody else. Well now Heliotrope had really done it, stealing her boyfriend. Not like Melamine wanted to be dating that cheat anyway._

_Heliotrope was welcome to Andrew because she – Melamine Hale – could do just fine without him._

_While Melamine was thinking about just how independent she was now that Andrew ''wasn't dragging her down'', Andrew was arguing with a adamant Heliotrope who still hadn't realised what she had done._

"_You idiot," He manages to spit out, "That was my girlfriend."_

_Heliotrope just giggled seductively, "No silly, didn't you hear her? You're a single man now. Don't worry though, I'll be happy to replace her." She slid closer but Andrew shoved her away._

"_Can't you take a hint?" He snapped at her, "I don't want to go anywhere near you. I was fine with Melamine, not you."_

"_But you were kissing me back," Heliotrope replied, a dopey smile on her face as she licked her lips, "Mm, want to make out again?"_

_Andrew tried to look disgusted at the thought, although he actually did enjoy that kiss and wouldn't mind doing it again, "You're deluded," He finally spat out after staring at her for a few minutes, "I'm leaving. No way do I want to spend any more time with you."_

"_But honey," Heliotrope whined, to no avail, as Andrew stomped down the pathway back to his car. She continued to wail in this manner but it made no difference in the end._

_Why did men always have to be so difficult?_

Heliotrope tries to wriggle her way into a sitting position but Andrew's vice-like grip on her arm ensures that she's going nowhere. She tries a different approach, an approach that she loathes to use and might not work anyway, but her options are not numerous at this point in time.

"The offer's still open, if you want." Heliotrope purrs, not making any sudden movements towards Andrew in case he rejected her.

"Offer?" He raises an eyebrow, "I thought you couldn't remember anything. Looks like you've miraculously recovered your memory, huh? You weren't quite that drunk then."

She says nothing, knowing that she had just slipped up, knows that she has just been caught out. Andrew picks up on her silence, "So you were lying then," His voice was full of menace. "Well, maybe it's time to show you what I do to liars like you." Dragging her by the arm, he spared not a thought for Heliotrope's protests as he walked calmly down the hallway. Indeed, he did not even appear to realise that she was struggling and pleading with him to let go.

Although not many tributes use it, there was a staircase next to the elevators that meant you could walk up to the rooftop or down to the training centre and main entrance without visiting all of the other tributes on their assigned floors. Open the door that's next to the elevator and turn left. You will see a balcony that looks out onto the splendour of the Capitol. Not many tributes knew this was here unless they were curious enough to pry around. Andrew had seen his Capitol escort use the stairs this way and it was on the balcony that he roughly escorted Heliotrope to. Shoving her against the wall, he looks out on the sparkling lights below him, some of them moving uniformly like army ants along a forest floor, others emitting a strong orange light that hurt the eyes to look at. If he wanted to, he could have made a point about his views on the Capitol, how lucky he felt to be here with this ultimate chance of the riches and glory one received when they were announced victor. How awed he is by the whole thing. How _scared_ he is of what they can do. But he doesn't. Because saying that would be showing weakness and that just isn't the done thing. It just isn't how they were raised in District One.

Not only that, it's because he knows something Heliotrope doesn't and he intends to rectify that. He doesn't intend on sharing his views with her, he just wants to teach her a lesson and here, on this balcony, would be the perfect set-up for it.

"Scared?" He asks her, deliberately making eye contact with her as he towered over her, "You should be." With those three words, he grabs her arm and drags her into a position where his foot is resting gently on Heliotrope's arm. Before he does what he does next, he smiles down at her. Smiling as he lifted up his foot and in one motion sends it slamming down onto her arm. There's a sickening _crack_ sound as part of Heliotrope's arm is crushed under his boot. What shocks Heliotrope the most is how effortless it seems for him. Effortless like crunching fresh snow under your boots in winter. She screams, but the sound is caught, caught in the palm of Andrew's hand as he presses it over her mouth suffocatingly tight, silencing her. Her scream is trapped, trapped like a bird in a cage, and it builds inside her, threatening to overwhelm her senses in agony.  
_What is he? _Heliotrope thinks amidst the jarring pain that was the only thing she could focus on. Her eyes must have given away her horrified curiosity for Andrew grins.

"Curious, huh?" He sneers at her, "Bet you can't break someone's arm like I just did, am I right?" When she nods weakly, he continues, "Well don't worry, it's not just because you're pathetically weak, although you are," He laughs while leaning in so that their faces were barely inches away, "It's because of the Capitol. They did this."

Andrew removes his hand from her mouth when he's sure she's not going to scream in pain. Immediately she blurts out, "You're crazy."

"Somehow, I knew you were going to say that." Andrew replies, not in the slightest bit fazed.

"Well you are," A shot of fear runs though her as she realises Andrew could break her other arm if she angers him, "I mean, nobody has superpowers."

"It's all part of the twist," Andrew informs her flatly, "Don't ask me what it's supposed to represent."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know, possibly?"

There's an awkward silence. The fact that Andrew is still leaning over Heliotrope while she's trying not to move her broken arm too much does little to eliminate the tension. Eventually Heliotrope speaks.

"So, you're saying that the Capitol gave you superpowers as part of this twist thingy."

"Yes, is there a point?" He sounds tetchy for a reason unfathomable to Heliotrope.

"Well," She seems nervous, a nervousness verging on outright fear, "Are you the only tribute to, er, have some superpower or whatever?"

Andrew's face darkens, which is answer enough for Heliotrope. She presses on, "So there are more. It's not everybody, is it?" Then, before Heliotrope could properly register the words in her head, she asks, "Are you even human anymore?"

His eyes, which refused to look at Heliotrope before, suddenly return to her with a fiery intensity, "No," Andrew replies, his mouth set into a grim smile, "It's not everybody. Only the best got chosen for this," He chuckles again as he skewers her with his cold eyes, "And no, I'm not like you anymore. Yeah, I might have once been weak and human like you but I'm not now. The things the Capitol did to me so that I could be superior to you, to some ordinary Career with a pretty face," His eyes shine as his voice trails away. Instead of going into detail over what the Capitol had done to him, he pursues a different topic, "I've wanted to be in the Hunger Games for so long and now the Capitol have given me just what I need to win. And you can help us bring pride to our District." He's gripping her wrists desperately, eyes shining at the thought of his lifetime dream finally turning into reality, hoping she'll agree so that his final task is so much easier.

"Sure," The words are automatic to Heliotrope, she didn't even have to think about her answer. Nothing mattered more than maintaining her well-kept reputation. Having District One bring home the first set of victors would have been a massive boost in showing their superiority over the other districts.

Actually being the first two tributes would make their names forever known in history, even more famous than the very first Hunger Games victor: Victoria Summers, who also came from District One. The 1st Hunger Games, won by District One. How fitting.

Victoria might be dead now but everybody knew who she was. However the tributes this year were planning on upstaging her name. Two victors would be a phenomenal success. Surely the Capitol would be even more lenient on their most loyal subjects after they had proved their worth by doing what no other district had managed to do yet? Okay, the tributes from District Two had gotten close to succeeding a few times but that didn't mean anything in the long term. This was Heliotrope's perfect opportunity at clawing her way out of her mother's spotlight and into her own. Sure, her district partner might be slightly psychotic but in the end, he was working for the same thing as Heliotrope was and that was enough for her.

He smiles at her before planting a kiss on her cheek, "Good girl," He says in a tone that could almost pass for being gentle if one did not know Andrew better, "I thought you'd be so much more...resistant to accepting. Shame I have to do this so that I don't get the blame for breaking your arm." His Career reflexes kick in and he's off Heliotrope, grabbed her good arm and pulled her up in one smooth movement. Quickly, he spins her around so that she was balancing on the edge of the first step in the stairway. The slightest imbalance on her part would sent her falling down the stairs, which would provide a plausible explanation for her limp, useless arm. And so they stood, Heliotrope trapped in Andrew's grip, just waiting for him to push her over.

"Please," She begged, not even trying to struggle in Andrew's grip. Even Heliotrope knew just how futile that would be, "I swear, I won't tell anyone."

"Sorry sweetheart," Andrew says, not sounding very sorry at all, "But the Capitol put a catch on this twist. And one of these catches is that you shouldn't know about them. The normal tributes," His eyes gleam in the dim moonlight as he stares at Heliotrope, "So now I'll have to cover my tracks."

"How do you know I won't tell anybody?" Heliotrope asks, knowing that she wouldn't tell anyway; it would mean she lost an advantage over the 'normal' tributes if she did.

"I know this because," He tightens his grip on her arm until it's painful for Heliotrope, "Because any tribute who does find out and ruins the surprise is in for a lot of pain when the Hunger Games come calling. Who knows what mutts they'll use to achieve that. So if I were were you, I'd keep your mouth shut. Although I know you wouldn't have told anyone anyway."

"Then why are you doing this?" Andrew had grabbed her broken arm so the last part of her question was a agonised gasp.

Before he let go of her, he replies, "Because it's just too much fun to resist."

And as he shoved her down the stairs, as her broken, rag-doll arm crashed into what seemed like every step, as she screamed because agony assaulted every part of her, she realised what Andrew had meant. Knew that in the arena, she would do the very same thing to the tributes that were unfortunate enough to cross her path.

Why?

As Andrew had neatly put it, hurting somebody was just too much fun. Imagine watching somebody be reduced to a screaming heap on the floor, degrading them to the mentality of a injured deer. Imagine knowing the fact that you had done that, you had broken a person in that way. But when that injured deer decides it doesn't want to play anymore and retaliates, well anything could happen. The wolves playing with it never see it coming.

Heliotrope knew that wouldn't happen with her. There was no way in hell she would be able to fight back against Andrew. He was just too strong for her to defeat him. Literally. Strength might not be everything but at this moment in time, Heliotrope's world was spinning and flashing with the pain her body was enduring to formulate a plan. Her mind shied away from such a thought – nobody would believe her and even if they did, she wasn't supposed to know about this. It would mean that the arena turned into her deathbed.

It seemed like her mouth was sealed shut. But she didn't like it. And she still wasn't going to change her ways.

Well it's not like she could stop being nasty and cruel to the tributes now, was it? Everybody judged her automatically just because she was from District One. They all thought they knew her just because her mother was a victor. Thought that she was evil and bloodthirsty, just because she could use a weapon and was with the Careers.

In this case, they would be correct. But stereotypes were just what the Capitol wanted. Stereotypes helped create divisions between the districts and that was exactly what they were aspiring for.

What the Capitol wants, they always get with District One. If they say jump, they would jump. If they say train your children to be killed in the Hunger Games, then that's precisely what they would do.

_Because it was just so much fun._

* * *

**So, what do you think of that twist then? XD**_  
_


	15. It all adds up

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)**

Chapter Fourteen

_**Beryl Streep, **_

_**District Three,**_

"Could Andrew Phillips from District One make his way over." A Game-maker asked – no, commanded – the tribute to walk into the training centre. Today was the private sessions with the Game-makers and the atmosphere was more tense than ever. Like it hadn't been already. The Careers were being their usual arrogant and annoying selves, bragging about how they were going to get the highest scores and kill everybody in this room blah blah blah.

Were they being quiet about it? Not a chance. Right now they were discussing who was going to kill which tribute. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at their ridiculous behaviour. Anybody would think that they were arguing over which piece of chocolate they were going to eat.

A irritating giggle from Heliotrope reaches my ears, "I would love to take out that weakling from Five," She practically purrs, "He has such a skinny neck, it would be perfect to cut open." The Five boy looks like he's about to wet himself as he realises that he has been singled out from the herd of sheep – I mean tributes – by a Career. It's never a great position to be in, never mind the fact that Felix really really wanted me dead.

And as that thought pops into my head, the devil himself speaks, "The Three girl's mine." He growls, looking across at me. All of the other Careers follow suit, waiting to see if I'm suddenly going to cringe back in fear.

Yeah, that's not going to happen.

Waving, I plaster a cheesy grin on my face while making eye contact with Felix. This grin only grows wider when their expressions turn from satisfied and smug to irritated. I stop waving and pick up a random Capitol magazine that's on the nearby coffee table as Felix decides to stroll over. Well, maybe stroll is the wrong word for what he was doing. The way he walked reminded me of a tiger preparing to pounce on a mouse. By the time he's standing in front of me, all of the tributes that had been sitting near me had dispersed. Honestly, they were such cowards. After all, I'm the one who Felix has decided to single out for his undivided attention, not them. Although I could live without Felix breathing down my neck, if I'm going to be honest.

"'Afternoon Felix," I say casually, leafing though the magazine and only paying a little bit of attention to the words printed on the paper. However, I pretend to look at the pages with uncharacteristic absorption.

He smirks at me, "What do you think your training score's going to be, little rabbit?"

"Little rabbit, is it now? I see you've changed your nickname for me." Turn over to the next page, feign admiration for the latest scientific break-though for hair dyes, look at pictures, turn over the page. Rinse and repeat. Might be boring, but it beat what Felix was doing now.

"Well a rabbit would be so much more apt, don't you think?" His tone of voice is conversational, "It implies that you're just waiting for a wolf to rip you apart." I finally look from the magazine into his eyes, which are deadly calm and serious. For some strange reason, this just makes me burst out into laughter. A slightly manic, desperate kind of laughter that draws everybody's attention to me. I can't imagine why; it's only the crazy girl from Three laughing her head off at the psycho boy from Two. Said psycho raises an eyebrow at me and I quickly stop. However, I keep a deliberately smug smile on my face.

"Oh, were you being serious?" I ask him mockingly. The smile is still on my face and I turn back to 'reading' the magazine half-heartedly.

This does a poor job of getting Felix off my back. Instead of saying that yes, he was being serious, he casually drops into the conversation, "I see your boyfriend didn't tell you what I said then."

If he thinks that his enigmatic statement is going to have me begging for more information then he is sadly mistaken, "You say a lot of pointless things, Felix. I don't see why I should care." My voice is dismissive.

He leans in closer and I resist the temptation to whack him over the head with the magazine that I am holding. I have to remind myself that it wouldn't actually hurt Felix in any way and would only succeed in further pissing him off. Not like I ever took that fact into consideration when annoying everybody else, "When I catch up with you," Felix mutters dangerously, "When I catch up with you in the arena, you're not going to be laughing so much then."

Before I can think of a reply, the Game-maker speaks, "May Felix Wilds from District Two enter."

I smirk at him, "Have fun being outscored by me." I say cheerily, adding a little wave for effect. He just snorts in reply before walking off. Well how was I, a District Three citizen, supposed to outscore Felix, a trained killer from District Two? He was probably going to receive something like a nine or a ten. Secretly, I was hoping for a seven, or possibly an eight. My abilities with throwing knives and spears were definitely good enough to get that, right? My knife-throwing was flawless up to one hundred or so metres away. Anything further than that and it was a fifty: fifty chance of me actually hitting the target at all. Either I didn't throw the knife hard enough or the knife hit the target a few inches away from the bullseye. Mostly the first one, since I lacked the power to throw something that far with any accuracy. My spear throwing was average all around – occasionally I hit the dummy in the heart – but I was mainly relying on my ability to defend myself in close-range combat with a spear. That wasn't something you saw everyday and the Game-makers were always looking for something new, weren't they?

"Could Xenia Freeton please enter," No matter how they put that, it was not a question. I guess that was the whole point, wasn't it? They could be as polite or as rude as they wanted to be and we would still have to do as they say or else. Was this was being at school was like, I wonder. Having to obey the teachers or else they could screw up your chances of getting good grades?

Now that I thought about it, the situation was similar. Except for the small fact that our lives were on the line here and not our future careers. I watch as Xenia happily complies, not sparing a second glance at the other Careers before grinning and entering the room. After Adrian was called up, it would be my turn.

I let my thoughts drift to my unofficial boyfriend. My first boyfriend. I know it's a stupid thing to worry about but I don't like the fact that the first guy I have ever dated isn't actually anybody that I would have considered going out with. It's not Adrian that's the problem, it's the fact that the whole thing feels forced. When I volunteered for the Hunger Games, I hadn't bargained for this and therefore I had no idea how to handle this pseudo-romance thing. Well, I called it the pseudo-romance but to be honest, I don't actually have a clue. Mainly because I was still clueless about Adrian's feelings for me – if any existed – and I was trying not to think about it too much. If I did, it would only distract me even more from trying to survive the Hunger Games.

Okay, that wasn't particularly difficult but thinking about me and Adrian would take all day, so I tried not to.

It's not because of Adrian himself; as far as boyfriends go, he's been mild-mannered about the whole thing. It's as if he realises my reluctance to go ahead with pretending to be in love with a guy. Especially my best friend, who is usually the last person that one would consider dating. However, I can't help feeling that this was going to make things awkward between us if we managed to make it home. I don't think I could look the same way at his lips, for starters, and I'm sure he'll feel the same. But then again, who knows what goes on inside a guy's mind? For all I know, he might actually have enjoyed kissing me.

That would be all fine and dandy if I could actually sort out my emotions in peace and quiet, away from the curious eyes of the others. But no, every moment of this romance was being filmed by the Capitol, forever stored in the memory banks of Panem. Every single moment of me having my first 'boyfriend' was being watched and recorded. Remembered, while the commentators dissected the littlest things that we did together. Every word we said to each other, every hug and every kiss was being observed by the Capitolites and the Districts. Meanwhile, the media would force us to do more and more extreme things until I wouldn't even be able to stay in the same room as Adrian without thinking of them. How would I ever be able to regain my old friendship with him now?

"Beryllium Streep," That's me, the District Three girl, preparing to show the Game-makers what I'm made of. I must have missed Adrian's name being called, so busy was I pondering our relationship/ friendship thing.

You can totally see that I know where I'm going with this. With this relationship with Adrian. Not.

Entering the training room, I can immediately tell that something is up. It wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that the training room looks like somebody had detonated a bomb or anything, no, not at all. The fake trees in the climbing station are now halfway across the room next to the remnants of the shooting targets at the spear-throwing section. Like somebody had just ripped the trees out from their space and flung them at the targets. But nobody – and I do mean nobody – is that strong. It just wasn't possible unless the trees looked heavier than they were. Walking over, I try and see if I could possibly move them. Nope, the climbing trees didn't budge an inch, not even when I had pressed my full weight against it.

_So who managed to use them as spears? Who managed to chuck them across the training room?_

It must be intentional. Maybe the Game-makers decided that they wanted to replace the old climbing station with newer equipment. Such a thing happened frequently here; the training station for the very first Hunger Games would have been very different to the one standing before me. However, the Game-makers hadn't done a particularly good job of cleaning the mess up, if that was the case.

That wasn't the only thing that had been changed since then. There were scorch marks around the fire-making station and the archery targets were now nothing but piles of ash. As I stared, the light fixtures above the archery station suddenly collapsed, making a horrendous crashing sound as they hit the floor. Somebody must have weakened the structures holding the light fixtures to the ceiling. I'm guessing that Adrian must have been responsible for one of those things – sure, he didn't like blowing up stuff like I did but that didn't mean he didn't know how to. However, it was slightly suspicious. Everybody expected District Three to use technology and bombs. That was what we created, after all. If Adrian had done anything, then surely he would have showed off his unusual (for our district, anyway) affinity with a sword. He wouldn't have considered blowing up anything, would he?

What if one of the standard Careers was secretly a pyromaniac? That might make for great drama or whatever but it would be seriously inconvenient for me. I was supposed to be the crazy pyromaniac out of all the tributes and I didn't want the Careers stealing my thunder.

However, the weirdest thing to me was the blue mat situated near the centre of the floor. A sharp, antiseptic smell reached my nose and I cough slightly at the bitter scent. Cleaning fluid. Huh, I wonder what happened there. Maybe somebody decided to use camouflage to disguise themselves as a tree or something. Except for the fact that those methods were not the norm for Careers.

That's when I notice the Avoxes positioned against the walls of the training room. They were silent – well of course they would be, since they were mute – but I noticed that a few of them were _crying_.

Perplexed at all of this, I look up at the Game-makers, wondering if they would give away any clues as to what the other tributes had done. They were not paying any attention to me. Not in the slightest. Actually, I doubted that they had even realised that I was here. Apparently, whatever the other tributes had done was far more interesting than little old me. Sneaking over, I listen to the not-so-subtle conversations that are happening above me.

"_Oh, wasn't Felix's demonstration amazing?"_

"_It was beautiful. I don't think anybody else has ever done that before."_

"_I just can't wait for Felix to enter the arena. If I could sponsor, my money would be on him."_

"_Imagine the ratings. Especially with the new twist. Nobody is going to forget this year's Games."_

"_What are we going to give him?"_

"_We'll decide later. It's not like anybody else is going to be able to upstage District Two, is it?"_

Backing away, I digest this information slowly. Whatever Felix had done must have unique if the Game-makers were impressed. Well it must have been special to stand out in the Game-makers' minds since there had been seventy-nine years of demonstrations. Grudgingly, I will admit that achieving such a feat was impressive. Kind of.

That didn't mean that they could just ignore me though. Okay, so I wasn't the strongest and my sword-fighting skills were mediocre at best. But they could still pay some attention to me – I was the sixth tribute to be performing in front of the Game-makers, they couldn't be bored already. Then I notice something. A slight shimmering in the air. Backing up slightly, I can see that behind a purple-haired Game-maker, the air seems to be moving, like a heatwave. Well, that _was _interesting. Did they always have that surrounding them, or was it brought on by the actions of another tribute?

_It's not like anybody else is going to be able to upstage District Two, is it?_

Well, I was about to show them just how wrong they were.

* * *

**_Robin Prescott, _**

**_Game-maker,_**

"I cannot believe that girl. She, she, that girl had the audacity to – " The Head Game-maker, Audrey, seemed lost for words once the area around the Game-makers' table had been deemed safe. Currently, we were debating over what her score was going to be. All of the other tributes' scores had been decided, the lowest score given so far being a pitiful two (well, crying was hardly going to come in handy in the arena, was it?). The Careers had done exceptionally well, but that was no surprise. This year, it wasn't only the Careers that were capable of obtaining such a score.

"She blew up the forcefield surrounding the table?" I reply with false innocence.

Audrey glared at me, annoyed at the level of boldness that I – a mere Game-maker – possessed, but didn't make any corrections, leading me to believe that I was in the right. Well, that really shouldn't come as a surprise to you; I was always right.

"It is a outrage," Another one of the Game-makers, Tulip, slurred dramatically, "I vote that she gets a zeeero." She then giggles manically before taking another sip of wine.

Before I can object, Audrey intervenes, "Zero? You're suggesting that this foolish girl should get a _zero_?" She looks close to murdering somebody, preferably not me, "Nobody is going to bother with that brat in the arena if she receives such a pathetic score."

_Nobody is going to bother with that brat. _Those words give me a genius – as usual – idea, "Wait, do any of the tributes have any, what do you call it, _grudges_ against her?"

Audrey raises an eyebrow, not knowing where I was going with this, "Yes, it seems that the Careers were irritated with her refusal to join their group, especially the District Two boy."

I give her a evil smile, which is only emphasised by my blood-red lipstick, "Well then, why don't we irritate him even further?" I suggest, resting one perfectly-manicured nail on Felix's impressive training score, "Why don't we imply that this girl is better than him, that this girl could be the victor instead of him?"

Audrey looks at the District Two boy's training score, wondering if she should take up my idea. I don't see why she shouldn't; if Felix managed to catch up with Beryllium in the arena, a beautiful show would be guaranteed for the viewers. If Felix's demonstration had been a sneak peak at what he was going to do in the arena then I could hardly wait for the Hunger Games to start. And we Game-makers were the ones who could 'help' Felix find the other tributes, including the District Three girl.

Then she would truly pay for trying to defy us.

Audrey appeared to be in deep thought for a moment, then a sly smile made its way onto her face, "You know, I was just thinking about that lovely esteemed mark that one of our tributes is going to receive very soon. Why don't we make it the impossible mark?"

"The impossible mark, Audrey?"

"The impossible mark," Audrey sounded like the cat with the cream, "A mark that is so unattainable, so highly regarded and valued, that any one tribute that achieves that mark will instantly be classed as a threat."

I only have time to raise an eyebrow when Tulip interrupts, "Well of course," She giggles, "We're hardly going to give the tributes from District Twelve a twelve, are we?" She points to the pathetically low scores of the tributes from District Twelve, spilling her glass in the process. Audrey scowls as she moves the sheet before the wine ruins it, "Ha, District Twelve getting a twelve? It's _never _going to happen."

Audrey clears her throat, not impressed that Tulip was stealing her thunder, "As I was saying, we should use that to our advantage to kill off any rebellious tributes like our dear Beryllium here. No Career will ever receive a twelve, not unless they harbour a…unhealthy attitude towards Panem."

The other Game-makers nod. Even Tulip manages to sober up for long enough to shut up and nod.

"Excellent idea." I flatter Audrey while giving her a smile. Do you have any idea just how far a few simple compliments can take you? Well I did – if you had told me five years ago that I would be a Game-maker, I would have laughed and say that you were crazy. How much things can change in a couple of years. None of the Game-makers here even suspected that I originally came from District Eight.

Well, I had altered my features enough so that I blended right in. When you looked at me, you wouldn't see any of my natural features because I had got rid of them all. No more brown eyes or curly brown hair, now I had vivid red hair in a pixie cut and robin-black eyes. Might as well play up to my name, right?

Audrey smiles at me, "I hope that wasn't a surprise to you, Robin." Her words are laced with meaning as her eyes glitter menacingly at me.

I keep the grin on my face as I reply, "Of course not."

* * *

**And so ends the shortest chapter posted so far. Hope you don't mind :)**

**The bloodbath is going to happen in two or three chapters. Just thought that I'd let anyone reading this know XD  
**


	16. The Bloodbath

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)**

Chapter Fifteen

_**Beryl Streep, **_

_**District Three,**_

Sixty seconds.

One minute, only one minute to take a good look at the arena, steady the thud-thud-thud of your heartbeat. Observe your surroundings and see where your competition were. Plot out where you were going to move to grab a backpack or decide if turning one hundred and eighty degrees and running away was a better idea. And trust me, that would be an excellent plan right now considering the fact that the combination of my training score plus my interview had probably made everybody hate me. Felix especially would want revenge for those two things. Okay, I didn't particularly want to be around when he tried to exact that revenge, since there would probably be a lot of pain involved. And my eventual death, of course. Did I regret irritating the Careers to the point that most of them were eyeing me with narrowed eyes, just waiting for the chance to kill me themselves?

Don't be stupid. It's not like they would have spared me anyway, so why bother trying to tip-toe around them? Why bother playing nice? This is the Hunger Games. And when did playing nice ever help anyone win? Never, that's when.

Well I actually wanted to live. Meaning that I had to win. It was too bad that in the arena, they meant the same thing.

Fifty seconds.

Firstly, I take a look at the Cornucopia and all of the tempting supplies that were surrounding it. Well, for starters, there was a giant climbing net that we tributes were going to have to scramble though to actually reach the Cornucopia. It looked eerily similar to the climbing equipment we had back in the training centre. Backpacks were attached to the net, inviting the more stupid tributes to risk their lives trying to reach them. Only the Careers would ever know what the contents of those backpacks were, since any other tribute trying to climb up to grab one would expose their back to a well-aimed knife or spear. And it's not like anybody was watching my back, was it? No, not anymore. Once, I could have risked my life back in District Three, confident that Adrian would be looking out for me. Well that wasn't going to happen now, not when his life was in as much jeopardy as mine.

Forty seconds.

Like cold water had been splashed into my face, realisation hit me. We could die here. This arena could be the place where me and Adrian took our last breath of air, where ours hearts stopped, stilled forever into silence. The worst part? Our entire time here was being filmed for entertainment. Twenty two or twenty three people were going to die here for entertainment. I might have a pretty strange sense of humour but killing people wasn't fun. Witnessing death was hardly entertaining either, in my opinion. What was so thrilling about watching somebody die? Because I've seen death first-hand many times before and I still don't get it.

Why was Panem so obsessed with death?

Thirty seconds.

Maybe it wasn't the process itself that interested the Capitol so much. Maybe it was the implications attached to the dying that mattered. The fact that the Capitol could do whatever they wanted to the District citizens and the Districts could do nothing about it. And if the Districts did have enough of the Hunger Games, the Capitol would just destroy them again. Of course, they couldn't obliterate all of the Districts, could they? Who would supply them with the clothes and the food and the technology if they did? It's not like the Capitol was particularly self-sustaining, was it?

Twenty seconds.

Clearing my head of those thoughts, I look to the left of my plate. Looking back at me coolly was the girl from District Nine, Bailey. She just raised her chin at me confidently before pointedly turning away to look at something else. To the right of my plate is Hayley who notices me staring and waves at me. Compared to Bailey, she seems much more friendly and I wonder what she was going to do at the bloodbath. Probably run in the opposite direction – the arena would probably help keep her alive for a couple of days even if she didn't have a backpack.

Ten seconds.

Whipping my head around, I try and make sense of the arena this year. Plain grey concrete covers the ground, marked with colourful lines, numbers and shapes that make no sense to me, marking out a massive circle a hundred or so metres in diameter around the golden Cornucopia. The net that did a poor job of concealing the golden horn held a good portion of the supplies. After the circle stops, the concrete is abruptly replaced by leaves and roots, with trees everywhere for as far as the eye can see. Within the trees, you could see rabbits innocently hopping around from place to place. I guess they would provide a helpful food source if I could actually catch one and gut it correctly, which I would probably not be able to do. The number of times I have ever needed to skin and gut an animal back in District Three would be averaging at zero.

Five seconds.

I can't tell if this is a good thing or not, but the arena this year isn't the typical forest, despite the trees. The first clue to this would be the giant play sets scattered around everywhere, depicting boats and houses and fantasy castles. Even in the Cornucopia supplies, you could see footballs and tennis rackets, although I doubted that they were supposed to be used as weapons. A swinging movement catches my eye and I notice a pair of swings moving forwards and backwards, inviting somebody to sit on one of them.

Wow, the Game-makers were really being ironic here, weren't they? Making us kids fight for our lives in a place where we should be playing around and having fun. Ruining any positive connotations of this area with whatever happened here.

We're in a giant playground.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Ninth Annual Hunger Games begin!"

The gong rings and I dash forwards without thinking, not even knowing where I was going until I glance around. Twenty metres to the left of me, there is a long black bag and a normal-sized red backpack. That nobody else is trying to get. It's a perfect opportunity to get some supplies before running away from here unharmed. Or so I thought.

Before I realise what's happening, I'm sent sprawling to the floor as another person leans over me. Quickly, I kick out at them. My foot makes contact with the person's knee and they also fall with me. I scramble away from them, not wanting anyone near me, then I realise who it is.

The mystery person mutters something under her breath that doesn't sound like they're praising me. I speak first, "Oh hey there, Hayley. How's the arena working out for you?"

I grab the golf-bag and the red backpack while I say this, stalling for time in case she tried to attack. Hayley notices my fail attempts at being sneaky and looks amused, raising an eyebrow at me. Mind you, I don't think she would have attacked me; she didn't have a weapon and now I was armed with whatever was in the bag. Stretching one hand behind my back, where I had dumped my golf-bag over my shoulder, my fingers find cold metal and I retrieve…a gold club.

Seriously? A golf club? Just what was I supposed to do with that? No, really, it was practically useless as a weapon. It wasn't even thick enough to cause any real damage if you wanted to hit someone over the head with it. Neither would I be stabbing anybody with this. Hell, it didn't even look intimidating. The only thing that this would be helpful with is making me look like a complete idiot, although some people would say that I didn't need much help in that department.

Grabbing my arm, Hayley drags me to a standing position and starts running towards the line of trees, "So, I was thinking about your offer back in training…" She starts off while I get my feet into gear, clueless as to why I was blindly following Hayley.

It takes me a second to realise what Hayley means by my 'offer' in the training room. Around the time that the Anti-Careers were formed, I had made a sarcastic comment about me, Hayley and Flint allying. Clearly, the sarcasm hadn't been obvious enough.

I try and tell Hayley this, "Er, Hayley? That wasn't actually an offer. It was more of a – "

"Okay, I know that you didn't entirely mean it but me and Flint thought it was a great idea." She interrupts in a slightly too perky voice, still sprinting like mad although I can tell that she's starting to tire. Making my legs move faster, I risk glancing behind us. The scene that plays out before me is definitely not a nice one.

The girl tribute from District Five is already dead, her green eyes staring vacantly into the distance as blood runs down her face from a knife in her forehead. From here, it looks like her eyes are boring into me, accusing me of killing her even though I had never spoken to her before in my life. Neither would I ever get the chance. Her district partner was nearby, a obvious red line cut neatly across his throat as he lay on the grass. Vaguely, I recall Heliotrope threatening to cut his throat and I wonder if she made good on her promise. Heliotrope hadn't known his name before and neither did I. It wouldn't help me now if I did anyway.

The seemingly faded sounds of fighting, dying tributes is disrupted by a high-pitched screaming. Over to the left, I can see a red-haired figure tracing a knife down a little girl's cheek as she wails desperately. Felix. He's torturing that tribute. The girl tries to scramble backwards but Felix just laughs and plunges his knife into his victim's arm, eliciting another agonised scream.

Hayley stops all of a sudden and I stumble forwards, almost falling to the floor, "What's going on back there?" She asks me, panting for breath all the while. We're now leaning against a tree, just far enough into the woods to see the bloodbath but not so close to the concrete circle that we would be glaringly visible to anybody at the Cornucopia.

Bewildered at the bloodbath that is taking place before me, I start incessantly babbling, not even thinking before the words tumble out, "Both tributes from District Five are dead and Felix is torturing a little girl. He's torturing her. Why would you want to torture her? It makes no sense…"

A loud burst of lightning seems to appear out of nowhere and strike another tribute in the chest, killing them almost instantly as their silhouette was illuminated in crackling blue electricity that was clearly not natural. Even more confused, I stop talking and just say, "See for yourself."

I don't turn around to see if she took my advice but judging by the shocked gasp I hear, I guess she did. However, I pay her no heed, busy trying to comprehend the scene that I had just witnessed. Mainly, the issue of a lightning bolt striking a tribute out of the blue. Had the Game-makers set motion-triggered traps around the Cornucopia that fried you with lightning bolts when you stepped on them or something? That was the only remotely logical explanation that I could come up with and even then, it still didn't make much sense to me, since the Game-makers preferred making the tributes kill each other instead of killing us themselves. I mean, everybody knew that they could kill us whenever they wanted; why reinforce that impression? And since when did the _Cornucopia_ have traps in it? That wouldn't make sense if you were trying to keep the friendly neighbourhood Careers around, would it?

Too many questions that really needed answers if I was going to survive this thing. Currently, it was just me and Hayley, armed with a golf club and a backpack, against twenty-two other tributes. The odds were not in my favour at the moment.

"It's not pretty, is it?" I hear a new voice say. There's a rustling sound and I whip my head around, golf club raised slightly nervously as the new tribute made themselves apparent.

Hayley didn't appear to have the same doubts that I did, if the fact that she literally ran over and flung herself into their arms was any indicator of what she was thinking, "Flint! I thought that you had forgotten our plan."

"Plan?" I ask stupidly, still regarding Flint, the guy from District Six, suspiciously. Said tribute had managed to escape from Hayley's enthusiastic grip and was now observing me with narrowed eyes.

"Oh, I know you," He states in a voice that was anything but friendly and welcoming, "You're that Three girl."

I roll my eyes, "Hi there, _Flint,_" I reply, putting emphasis on his name, "Nice to see you too."

Hayley beams at us. Clearly, she was going to be the optimist of our rag-tag group, "Great! Now that we've introduced ourselves, let's get going before the Careers find us."

Flint just gives her a weird look, "Since when was she in our alliance?"

Before Hayley can reply, I literally step in between the two of them, "Okay, you've lost me. Firstly, what is this plan that you guys keep talking about? And secondly," I turn to face Hayley, "I thought you said that Flint agreed to me joining."

Hayley looked a little bit uncomfortable, "Well actually, Flint didn't know that you would be joining but I'm sure he'll be fine with it."

He just snorts at this and I grin, "Yeah, take a look at him. Flint is barely holding back his excitement at having me join this group. Although if you guys want me to leave…"

"No, no," Hayley quickly interjects, her voice rising slightly in panic, "It's fine, isn't it, Flint?"

"Yeah, whatever," Flint just mutters, not looking at me. For some strange reason, I get the impression that he isn't going to be settling down for a picnic with me any time soon. As in, he didn't seem to like me very much. Why I get that impression from him remains to be seen.

In any case, it looks like I would be allying with these two, for the time being. I guess with the Careers and the Anti-Careers and the District Nine tributes on the prowl, running around on my own wouldn't get me very far.

But that didn't mean that I trusted these guys. This alliance was purely for convenience and those kind of alliances never ended well. It would have to do though. Safety in numbers, that was the rule. If there were more people to choose from, the chances of me being singled out were lower.

Right?

* * *

**Okay, since school is starting for me tomorrow and I'm going to be too busy studying for exams and such to write 6,000 words for every chapter and update quickly, I'm shortening the chapter length to around two or three thousand words instead. And yes, I skipped the training scores and interviews. However, you shall find out what happened there later :)****  
**


	17. Aftermath

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)**

Chapter Sixteen

**_Beryl Streep, _**

**_District Three,_**

"We're settling down here." Hayley says with no warning, dumping the red backpack that I had given her down next to the playground structure. The massive pirate boat play-set that we would apparently be sleeping in for the night. I'm pretty sure that there was enough space for the three of us. Actually, you could probably fit all of the Anti-Careers in here, something which would not prove helpful if they found this shelter. I'm not entirely sure what the official name was since these sort of things didn't really exist in District Three. It wouldn't do in the place where a park was hard to come by. So saying that this was a new experience – apart from actually being in the Hunger Games – was a slight understatement.

I raise an eyebrow, but dump my bag on the ground regardless, "We're staying the night in a pirate boat? This is new."

Flint just rolls his eyes, "Do you have any better ideas?" He challenges me, taking my comment as an act of defiance.

I keep a smile on my face despite his hostility. He was probably still wary of me, since he didn't know me very well. For starters, Flint still didn't know my name. Well, he hadn't used it yet so I was presuming that he didn't know it, "Nope, I was just asking. Although it could totally lead to us having a official name for our group." I nod wisely at this last part before picking up steam, "I can see it now – Captain Hayley's crew."

"Captain Hayley? Why me?" Hayley looks up from organising our supplies.

"You are the leader, right?"

Flint and Hayley looked at each other before turning to me, "Well actually, we don't have a leader. It was more of a democracy thing." Hayley explains.

I just shrug, "Okay then, you can still be Captain Hayley."

She just laughs, "If I'm the captain, what are you and Flint then?"

I have to think about this for a few moments because the only knowledge I have of pirates is what I manage to glean from the story books that occasionally 'fell' into my hands, "Er, well me and Flint can be the Quarter-Master. Or the Boatswain, which ever one is more important…" I stop talking as I ponder this to no avail. It's not like knowing about pirates would help you much in my district, or any district, actually.

Hayley continues to giggle, "You seem to know a lot about pirates then." She says teasingly, passing me something. I take it from her and realise that it's a packet of crackers.

Eh, as far as first night meals go, it's reasonable, if completely boring, "I know everything," I boast, not really being serious since it's impossible to actually know everything, "It's not surprising that I know about pirates."

I hear Flint sigh in exasperation but he doesn't comment on this. Then there is quiet as we arrange our supplies out neatly in a pile, seeing how much food we have and if we actually had any proper weapons. No such luck, unless you counted the golf clubs and a toy cutlass. Picking it up, I swing it around experimentally. It was as light as polystyrene, mainly because that was what the 'weapon' was made of.

I point it at Hayley, not with any intention of hurting her, just to show her how useless the cutlass actually was.

"Ahoy, me mateys," I almost shout, ruining the silence with my awful attempt at a pirate's accent while swinging it around, trying and failing to make it look like I have a clue how to use it effectively.

Well I don't know, maybe I could poke it in someone's eye and hope that it blinded them, but I doubted that this stupid thing could even do that. Stupid Gamemakers, mocking us by filling the backpacks with useless crap like this. I bet they were laughing at us now, laughing at the fact that they could treat us however they liked and nobody could do a thing to stop them. It was even worse when you realised that you and your allies would probably be near the top of the 'To Kill' list.

Not really the cheery, reassuring words that you wanted to think about at the end of a day, was it?

Flint just raises an eyebrow, "Could you at least try and be a little bit more subtle?" He asks me, voice carefully neutral while he gives me a weird look.

"Who needs subtlety? It's so overrated." I answer with a grin. Then I notice his unimpressed expression and add, "But whatever, I'll try and be quieter for your benefit."

My words were said in a voice that was anything but quiet and I add a smile at the end of it, just to see if that would irritate him. Flint just clenches his jaw tightly and turns away. Satisfied, I continue looking though our supplies. Aside from the toy cutlass and the six golf clubs we had, there were also several packets of crackers, enough bottles of water to last us a day or two, iodine and a blanket. That was it, unless you counted the numerous amount of miscellaneous baseballs, shuttlecocks, squeaky toys and the like weighing down the backpacks and none of those things would prolong our lifespans by even a second. Biting my lip, I take them out of our backpacks and look around, trying to find a place to dump the stuff without their mere presence giving away our location.

"Hey guys, where are we putting this stuff? It's not like we're ever going to use it, right?" I ask my allies, picking up the heap of toys. If only the Gamemakers had provided a massive cardboard box, then I could have walked over to the nearest structure, put the box somewhere around it and pretend that it was part of the arena. It would be less obvious than leaving a molehill of toys lying around.

Hayley doesn't look up from dividing the remaining supplies into three. Clearly, each person would be carrying a third of the supplies, which seemed fair enough, "Put them somewhere in the playground structure. People won't notice them from a distance if they're inside here."

She wasn't wrong. If we hid them in the place that we were hiding out at, then nobody should see them unless they somehow managed to sneak past us and find them. And if they had, then they probably would have realised that there were other tributes here anyway, which meant that those toys would be the least of our problems. As far as we were aware, pretty much every single tribute was in a alliance. We hadn't been at the start but we stood more of a chance against the other alliances together. What were the odds that one tribute could stand up to six Careers or who knows how many tributes the Anti-Careers had? These Hunger Games would not be fought one against one, clearly.

Walking over to the structure, it occurs to me that actually climbing up to the top of the ship and dumping the toys in one of the enclosed areas would be more difficult than I had first thought. Especially when you didn't have any hands free when you were carrying the junk.

"How do I get this stuff up there, anyway?" I ask.

It did sound like a stupid question but the only way you could climb up the structure was with the climbing nets draped over the side of the ship. Something which required two hands and two feet.

"You climb up the net, walk over to a random location and place the supplies on the floor." Flint answers in a condescending tone, amusement dancing in his eyes.

I roll my eyes. Was Flint always going to be this difficult? It wouldn't have done wonders for my patience at the best of times and now was anything but that. At the back of my mind, I wondered just how long it would be before we tried to kill each other. It's not like we were getting along too well. On the journey here from the Cornucopia, he had been firing back snide remarks to anything that I had said. I was pretty sure that he wasn't my Number One fan, but apart from that, I didn't have a lot of evidence to suggest this. Might as well not call him out for it. For now, anyway.

"Thank you, genius, but my arms are kind of full right now. Maybe you could help out or something?"

"I'm sure that you can manage." With that, he turns back and helps Hayley carry the useful supplies to the other side of the ship playground structure.

Well thanks for the supposed compliment, Flint. Sighing, I drop the heap of toys onto the ground, pick up several of them and shove them into the ridiculously baggy pockets of my outfit before starting to ascend up the net. This was going to take me a while.

...

It's night-time when I've finished moving all of the stuff from the grassy floor to the enclosed space next to a slide. If I had to move them again, I could just roll them down the slide and not have to go though all of the trouble of clambering down the net again. I swear the rope was frayed and rough enough to wear away at your skin. My hands were red and stinging like someone had just whipped them. Then my brain instinctively flashes back to the times I had spent at the community home, the occasions where I had been whipped for real. You don't really forget the time where you were punished for something that you didn't do. It wasn't my fault, was it? I didn't deserve to be dragged onto a table, head pressed into the cold metal as they bared my back and brought the whip down…

The monotonous blaring of the anthem brings me back to reality, snapping me out of my temporary lack of concentration. It's only then that I realise that I'm shaking slightly. Something that victors didn't do. Shaking off the remnants of that day, I go around the sides of the ship where a picnic area has been kindly set up for us. Well it's the least they could do for us since we were most likely going to die here. Hayley and Flint are there, nibbling quietly on the plain crackers as I join them in finding out who died. Eight cannons had fired after we had left, although the only tributes I knew had died were the girls from Districts Five and Twelve and whoever had been struck by lightning. I still did not get how that had happened. Was this part of the arena or something? Somehow, I didn't think so; lightning bolts and a giant playground with slides, monkey bars, plastic tunnels and the like really didn't go well together. I really didn't get it, which irritated me. I hated not knowing things, especially here. Who knew when I might be on the receiving end of one?

My thoughts are interrupted as the picture of the first tribute appears on the screen, after the god-awful anthem had finished. Let's just say that the first face to appear in the sky came as a surprise to me. You would be surprised to if the first death that you knew about after the bloodbath was a Career. Although if any Career tribute had been killed in the bloodbath, I would have chosen the District Four girl, Annabel. She didn't look like she would have made it far anyway, even with the Careers 'protecting' her. Heck, with Felix in near proximity of her, I doubted she would have lasted until Day Three without him finding some way of doing her in. Whatever happened to her during the bloodbath would have probably been quick. She might not have even seen it coming. Even now, in her picture, she didn't look like she had a clue what was going on. Unfocused eyes, a weak, disinterested smile and unkempt appearance didn't help make her look like a threat.

It didn't matter now, I think, as her face fades away to be replaced by the girl from Five. It really didn't matter how she had died, the important thing was that she was dead. Who cared about the intentions or the means, all that mattered was the result. Anyway, if she was the first to appear, that meant that all of the tributes from Districts One, Two and Three had survived. Okay, that wasn't a good thing for me for the first two districts but the fact that the tributes of District Three had survived the bloodbath. Definitely a good thing then, since I was from District Three and that meant that I was alive.

Stunning observation, I am aware. A pure stroke of genius. But what was even better than that new piece of information was the fact that Adrian was alive. He had survived the first day. As this sank in, a wave of relief seems to crash though me, surprising me with the intensity behind it. Unprepared, I drop the food I was holding to the floor while Hayley and Flint turn to look at me.

"Something wrong?" Flint asks me, his voice not showing any concern for me.

"No, everything's fine." I say a little too quickly as I tuck a stray brown curl behind my ear. I really needed to find a way of keeping it out of my eyes for longer. Adrian had always suggested that I simply chop it off. I had never taken it too well when he had offered to cut it off for me. What he didn't understand was that having a tiny stub of hair among a mass of curls would look awful. It wouldn't have fit in with the rest of my hair. Not like he had to worry about that or anything; guys usually didn't have much hair to look after, did they?

I'm pulled out of my thoughts about my district partner and my hair with Flint turning his full attention to me. His eyes, which were so dark brown they appeared to be black at first glance, seemed to be assessing my every move. It was quite unnerving.

Keeping my face expressionless, and therefore making sure that he didn't see that I was apprehensive of him, I calmly pick up my meal again. It's a little bit covered in grass and dirt but food is food. I dust it off and quickly devour it as the next few faces appear. As well as Annabel, both tributes from District Five are dead, along with the boys from Eight, Ten and Eleven and both tributes from District Twelve. That poor girl Felix got his hands on is up there, not like that's a surprise or anything. And she didn't even do anything to him.

And if he's that cruel to someone like her, just what did he have in store for me?


	18. Sabotage

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)**

Chapter Seventeen

**_Felix Wilds, _**

**_District Two,_**

"Falcon, just shut the hell up!"

Sighing, I look up to see Heliotrope flip her impractically long hair back while glaring at Falcon. One hand was on her hip while the other twirled a few strands of hair around her fingers. When combined with the irritated expression on her face and her looks, Heliotrope was definitely suited for the part of looking and acting like a spoilt diva. Which would be a pretty good description of her in general. As well as being an idiot, she was also incredibly whiny and bossy. Who did she think she was, acting like she was in charge?

"_Xenia, get that knife out of my sight now! It's all sticky and covered in blood, ew. You can't seriously be considering reusing that knife again."_

"_My hair is a mess. Is there a hairbrush anywhere?"_

"_Felix, I cannot be expected to carry this sword. It's way too heavy and it'll ruin my pink nail polish from the interviews."_

That last comment had been the last straw as far as I was concerned. Stupid bitch, bringing up the interviews when I didn't want to remember them. It wasn't like my interview had gone bad, far from it. Judging by the cheers I had received when I had strolled off-stage, my interview had raised the bar for the other tributes. Well, it should have done anyway. If only the male tribute from Seven and little Beryllium hadn't tried to upstage me.

Even worse, they had succeeded. Beryllium's interview wasn't the best but let's just say that nobody had seen her doing what she had done at the interviews. Although in retrospect, it made perfect sense for her to have done that. Only she was that stupid. And if that wasn't bad enough, the Seven boy, Sam, was acting way too arrogant in his interviews. That in itself was irritating to me, and it wasn't helped by the fact that he had received a lot of applause from the audience after his time was up. Well Sam might think that was great news for him but it's just guaranteed that I'll be the person ending his life.

Heliotrope's whiny voice brings me back to the argument that appeared to be brewing between her and Falcon. Evidently, I must have missed some of the conversation since Heliotrope was still twittering away, "If she hadn't died yesterday, that retard would have probably fell on her own trident by now. Really, it's a good thing that she didn't embarrass your district anymore."

"District pride isn't everything, Heliotrope." Falcon mutters quietly, so quietly that I almost didn't hear him.

Heliotrope flipped her hair back, offended at Falcon's comment, "How is it not important? Hello, the Hunger Games are all about bringing your district pride. Why do you think District One are the most adored and envied district? Because we have the best tributes."

I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes at her stupidity. District Two was far superior to the air-headed idiots from One, for starters. Not like I really cared about bringing my district pride. Oh no, I was far more focused on treating the Hunger Games as that – a simple game. One which only me and Xenia were going to win. There were already eight tributes dead; only fourteen more to kill before I won this for real.

Falcon looks sceptically at her, "You're acting like our lives don't mean anything."

"Well your lives don't. Nobody cares about you or _Annabel_, Falcon. Your district partner didn't stand a chance anyway."

Heliotrope's dismissive tone does not go down well with Falcon and he quickly gets back to the topic at hand, "How does that make Annabel's death any better?"

He demands this in a tone made of steel, with fury poorly concealed underneath that. Falcon had never been one for talking much and the fact that Annabel was dead had not helped his social skills any, but any fool could see that he was on the verge of a breakdown. I doubted that him losing someone 'close' to him would have improved his mood much in any case. I knew that I would be fairly annoyed if Xenia died. Well, maybe ''fairly annoyed'' was a slight understatement. It depended on how much she tried to irritate me if she died. Of course she wouldn't be any time soon; we were going to win these Games, after all.

Heliotrope doesn't take the hint to back off, getting into Falcon's personal space challengingly, "Didn't you hear me the first time? No one gave a damn about her, so shut up and be a good little Career like you used to be."

I think that the insulting little comment about Falcon being a 'good little Career' was when he decided that he didn't want to listen to Heliotrope taunting him anymore, judging by the fact that without any warning, he suddenly lunges forward and punches Heliotrope in the face. You could hear a satisfying cracking sound as he broke Heliotrope's nose and I suppress a smile. She wasn't going to be looking so perfect now, was she? The impact that must have been behind the blow was enough to shove Heliotrope to the ground.

This only enables him to lean over Heliotrope threateningly as he growled out, "Don't you ever insult her again."

Then Falcon stands up, walks over to a supply crate and sit on it, apparently lost in his misery over Annabel as he stares at his hands. Acting like he hadn't just punched Heliotrope and probably painted a target on his back for the One girl. Somehow, I doubted that she was going to let this slide very easily, but it's not like I was going to get in the way when she would inevitably try and get her revenge. Much as I would like to kill Heliotrope myself, it would be funny watching her be defeated by Falcon. What would be even better was me taunting Falcon on the fact that he had killed someone else when I killed him. He might have killed that Eleven boy and attacked Heliotrope, but I doubted that he had what it took to win these Games. Especially with me and Xenia around.

Yeah, he stood no chance. Never had done and never would do.

Heliotrope puts her hands to her nose slowly, as if she couldn't believe that someone had injured her. I almost snigger at what I thought was going on in her head. Probably reeling from the fact that someone had actually laid a hand on a girl as 'perfect' as her. Either that, or she was shocked that nobody was rushing over to make sure that little Heliotrope was okay.

You see, this little incident had been anything but subtle. Every single one of the Careers witnessed it, but none of us had intervened. Why bother stopping two of your 'toughest' competition from trying to kill each other? It only saved us the bother of eliminating them later. Not even I had lifted a finger to stop Falcon from hurting Heliotrope, although I was supposed to be their leader. Well I might be leading this pathetic bunch but don't expect me to actually help them out. On the contrary, I would probably end up being the one plotting their demise. Now, I wondered which one of my so-called allies was the most vulnerable of the lot.

Despite the fact that he's stronger and taller than me, I would still class Falcon as a minor threat. He was impulsive – if his attack on Heliotrope was any clue as to wherever he let his feelings dictate his actions – and not very bright to top it off. His district partner hadn't even survived the bloodbath, although her killer remained a mystery. Shame that Annabel was dead now though, since I couldn't use her against Falcon anymore. The District Four boy didn't have any ties to the Careers anymore except from his district. On second thoughts, I'd better keep an eye out for him. Who knows if he decides to try and stab me in the back? Well, who knew if he was smart and brave enough to think of that plan and follow it though?

Meanwhile, Heliotrope and Andrew were nothing more than the typical District One tributes; vain, spoilt and only just about able to wield a weapon properly. Like Falcon was, Andrew was also not the smartest. And as soon as some other tribute outsmarted him, I got to take my sweet time with his district partner. She wouldn't be any trouble at all, apart from her ridiculous Capitolite ways. Heliotrope wasn't actually from the Capitol but she sure acted like she was. Anyone would think that she was a victor from the way that she strutted around the place thinking that she was all that. Fine, she could think that. It would only be more fun when I ultimately proved her wrong. I knew that I said I wouldn't hurt my allies too much but I didn't think making a group of trained killers work together would be this difficult.

As for Adrian, well, he was a little bit like Falcon. As in, he didn't have anything that made him loyal to the Careers. Actually, he was even more of a wild card, what with his district partner running around on her own. As soon as we found her, Adrian would ally with her in no time. Too bad that I wasn't going to give him that opportunity. Come on, there was no way that I was going to let him have some stupid reunion with his supposed girlfriend. Soon as I found her, Beryllium was going to regret everything she had ever done to me. Whatever I had done to that girl in the bloodbath would look like child's play compared to what Beryllium would look like when I had finished with her.

"Does anyone actually know how Annabel died?" Xenia piped up from where she was gently stroking a knife with her fingers, eyeing Heliotrope maliciously. That knife was one of the three that we had managed to find in the supplies. Three. Most of the supplies had been full of useless toys that we had just left lying around in a giant pile. Well when were you ever going to need giant teddy bears, tennis balls or toy cars? The only halfway decent weapons that could kill were the three knives that belonged to me and Xenia, two swords which Falcon and Adrian were wielding and a baseball bat, something which Andrew had happily taken. I had given it to him as an insult but he actually seemed happy with calling the pathetic thing a weapon, swinging it around with an evil grin on his face. What an idiot – did he really think that he was going to be scaring anybody with a dinky little bat?

"Why does it matter?" Falcon asks hopelessly, sounding completely defeated, "Why does it matter? She's still dead and I couldn't do anything about it."

It was true, Falcon hadn't even seen the person who had killed the Four girl, the tribute who had the honour of killing off the first Career in the Games. At least, I hadn't seen anyone kill her. It wasn't until after the bloodbath that I had found Annabel lying on the ground. For a second, I had thought she had somehow managed to fall asleep in the bloodbath until I noticed the unnatural angle of her neck and head. Someone had snapped Annabel's neck, probably with their bare hands. That limited the suspects of who could have killed her considerably. Well it wouldn't have been Heliotrope – after all, she could barely lift up a sword. Imagining her snapping someone's neck was absurd. The thought itself made no sense.

"Doesn't avenging your district partner count for anything?" Xenia objects, looking confused, "Surely you would want to find out who killed her so you can get revenge?"

He shakes his head, "No no, you don't get it, you weren't there, you couldn't get it. I was and it doesn't make sense."

I whip my head around from where I had been staring into the distance, "I thought you said you didn't know who killed Annabel." I point out suspiciously.

Falcon doesn't turn to look at me, "I don't. All I saw was her crashing into the Cornucopia," He gestures to the large golden horn behind him, "Then she didn't get up. But that doesn't make sense. People can't fly."

Impatience was already beginning to build up inside me. Falcon was the one telling us what happened. He's the one who would know more about this event than us; he shouldn't be acting like he couldn't remember what the hell happened.

"You know what? I thought people could fly but thanks ever so much for clarifying that for me," Xenia laughs mockingly, "I don't have a clue what I would ever do without you."

I join in on irritating Falcon even further, "Have you ever just considered the possibility that maybe someone slammed her into the Cornucopia instead of her flying into it? She's not a pigeon."

Falcon clenches his fists tightly but doesn't look up, "No, she wasn't thrown into it by someone else. One minute she was over there," He says stubbornly, pointing to a scuff mark in the ground which was ten or so metres away from the Cornucopia, "And the next minute she ended up into the Cornucopia. Seemed like someone had thrown her but I didn't see anyone pick her up."

"Well clearly, someone must have thrown her into it. Nobody's capable of telekinesis." I reply irritably, not even bothering to resist the temptation to roll my eyes. It was the bloodbath, wasn't it? A time where it was impossible for one to be able to look after another tribute. If I was in his shoes, I wouldn't be wasting time and sponsors crying about it.

Falcon doesn't argue any further but under his breath, I hear him mutter something that definitely doesn't sound complimentary to me. Well that's alright – it wouldn't pay off for him later when I cornered him but that was his mistake, not mine.

While I was plotting the downfall of my alliance, a drop of rain landed on the back of my hand. Normally, I would have thought nothing of it. The only reason I did notice was because of the sizzling sound it was making. Alarmed, I look down to wear there was now a red mark slowly spreading across my hand, making my skin look inflamed.

Great, just what I needed; acid rain. Hissing as another drop of whatever it was touched my skin, I'm up on my feet and running towards the shelter of the trees before most of the other Careers even realise that there's a problem. I can hear gasps of pain and – in Heliotrope's case – indignation as this new threat made itself apparent but I pay them no attention. Every person had to fend for themselves in the arena and if the rain did manage to kill anyone, well that was their problem, wasn't it? I can hear feet pursuing me, the rain pattering against the leaves but somehow not touching the floor, the subtle trembling of plants that gave away the hiding places of animals. What I can't hear is a cannon and as I turn around, I can see that although most of the Careers had a few red marks marring their skin, all of them had managed to survive the Gamemakers' first trap. Well, no cannon had fired, no hovercraft was here to collect a dead body, so I was guessing that none of them had died.

I would have happily traded over a few of my allies for the supplies, however.

In retrospect, I really should have grabbed a backpack but I hadn't exactly thought of that when danger had hit. Annoyed, I glare futilely at the rain, fuming silently. If the Anti-Careers had come strolling in with the toys that we were going to have to kill them with, I would have happily rose to the challenge. Nobody had ever been able to defeat me in a fight and the other tributes wouldn't be an exception. However, when I was up against the weather, I couldn't do a damn thing except run. It aggravated me.

"Did anyone manage to grab any of our supplies?" My voice is brittle as I watch the acid rain eat away at the supplies that should have helped give myself an advantage over my ''competition''.

There's silence among my alliance before Xenia speaks up, "I managed to save these."

She takes out two of her throwing knives, cautiously looking up at the suspiciously thick canopy of leaves that prevented the rain from injuring us any further. Probably wondering if the leaves would part for the rain to pour down and ruin her precious knives, I guess. I couldn't blame her though; they made up the only weapons we had and obviously I didn't want to find out if the acid rain would ruin them first-hand.

However, it wouldn't look very impressive on television if I started harping on about how ''lucky'' we were for having _two_ knives. Looking on the ''bright side'' of things was the equivalent of asking the Gamemakers to impose more disasters on you until you couldn't see the light at the end of a tunnel anymore. Acting like something was worse than it already was meant that you could fool the Gamemakers into thinking that they had crippled you when really, you were still capable of winning with a blink of an eye.

Rolling my eyes melodramatically, I turn to the rest of the Careers, "Forget the knives, did anyone manage to save anyone of actual value to us?"

I hear Xenia stomp her foot childishly at this but nobody else says anything, "You're telling me that none of you have any supplies on you? None at all?"

I narrow my eyes at them, wondering if any of them had managed to smuggle supplies with them for themselves. It didn't look like it; the clothes that we were wearing didn't allow for you to hide anything in your pockets without anybody noticing, and there were no tell-tale lumps in anyone's outfits that gave them away.

Wow, it really did look like we were starting from scratch then.

Adrian coughs pointedly. When I turn around questioningly, he points over to something that's behind us, "That pile over there seems to be unaffected." There's a smirk curving his lips and when I turn around, I can see why, although why Adrian find this funny is beyond me.

As I had predicted, all of the Cornucopia supplies were gone, with nothing but a few scraps of fabric that were all that remained of the backpacks. Next to the Cornucopia, however, was the massive mountain of useless miscellaneous items that we had considered pointless. Ranging from blunt, wooden swords to water pistols to gigantic jigsaw pieces that seemed utterly pointless. They were made of foam, so you couldn't even smash someone's skull in with them.

All of those things, the toys that I wouldn't have ever considered using for weapons, were untouched. Every last one of them. Indeed, they looked perfectly alright. I doubted that the rain – which had stopped falling – had even touched them, since they looked to be dry and not covered in raindrops.

Oh come on, this just took the piss. We could not seriously be expected to use those _things_ as weapons. Unfortunately, the message couldn't be much clearer. The Gamemakers really was looking to put the 'game' back into the Hunger Games this year.

Who cared what they were up to though? It didn't matter that the Gamemakers were screwing around with the concept of ''playing'' because the end result was going to be the same – my victory.

How could it not?

* * *

**Hello again - there's a poll on my profile about if you guys want to have a sequel to Out of the Blue. It's just that I have two ways that I can take the plot from here so it would be great if you voted for if you want this story to continue after the 79th Hunger Games end :) You can also review/ PM with your answer - I don't mind just as long as I know XD**


	19. Look Up

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)**

Chapter Eighteen

**_Hayliana Christi, _**

**_District Eleven,_**

Music.

Nothing was as great at expressing your feelings as music. Like a lover's whisper, it spoke to you, comforted you when words would not suffice. It was so powerful and most people didn't even seem to realise it. Music was so powerful, making us feel a spectrum of different emotions when such pleasant sounds reached your ears. Which is why a smile appeared on my face as soon as I heard the innocent chirping of birds, signalling the start of a brand-new morning which I couldn't wait to look at.

Of course, there was the small matter of the fact that I was in the Hunger Games and the chances of me winning were minimal at best but since I was still in a fairly good condition with allies in a pirate ship thing, I was in a position to ignore this fact. Why worry about something that hadn't happened yet? You could enjoy life a lot better when you didn't stress about how awful your life was. Moping around wasn't going to make your life any better so what was the point in bothering?

Some people would say that I would be letting my darker thoughts control me if I was on my own, but luckily I wasn't. With Flint and Beryl around, there was no time to be hiding away in a shell, trying to ignore everything.

And just as I think that, I can hear Flint's voice interrupting the relative peacefulness of the second morning in the arena, "Are you crazy?"

"No, what else are we supposed to do? Sit around and wait for people to walk by? Where's the fun in that?" Beryl answers in a agitated tone.

"So killing people is fun now, is it?" Flint asks snidely, "How very Career like of you."

Yes, with my two allies around, there was never any time to chew on your own thoughts. I just chuckle to myself quietly. The two of them had been acting like this non-stop since the bloodbath. I doubted that it would amount to anything; we were in a alliance, so why would they? Us three were supposed to be working together, especially since it didn't look like any of the tributes this year were on their own. Some people would be worried if they were in my shoes, since we happened to be one of the smaller alliances. But for all we knew, the Anti-Careers could have split up under the pressure of losing most of their allies in the bloodbath.

Beryl brings me back to the argument that I happened to be eavesdropping on, "That wasn't what I meant and you knew it," She sounds exasperated with Flint; it was obvious in her tone of voice. I could imagine her gesturing in exaggerated ways, as she sometimes did when excited or annoyed, "I'm just saying that if we stay in one place, we might be targeted by the Gamemakers. It would be safer to keep moving, even if we don't find anyone."

"Oh come on, it's Day Two. The Gamemakers are hardly going to set mutts on us now, are they?"

"Oh Flint," Beryl drags out his name dramatically, "You've jinxed it. Now we're definitely moving."

Poking my head out, I can see Beryl and Flint facing each other straight on. Neither of them were paying any attention to their surroundings as they continued to bicker. Beryl had the toy cutlass in her hands while Flint had the bag of golf clubs slung over his shoulders. They were the only remotely dangerous things that we could salvage. Honestly, I wasn't entirely sure how the Gamemakers expected us to kill anybody with those. But then again, you didn't always need conventional weapons to defend yourself with. I guess I had found out that first-hand thanks to the Capitol.

Beryl had clearly just said something that she found funny, for she was smiling slightly at the expression on Flint's face, which is anything but amused. Before Flint can say anything, I decide to make my presence known.

"Isn't it a great morning?" I say cheerfully as I walk towards them with a smile on my face, pretending that I hadn't heard a single word of their conversation.

The mood between them relaxes almost instantly at my arrival, "Hey Hayley," Beryl says, still smiling. Flint just nods at me; his version of a greeting.

"So," I put emphasis on that one word, "What were you two talking about before I came along?"

Beryl – thankfully – doesn't try and lie to me, "I was just saying that it would be a good idea to move camp today."

Flint, not wanting to let the matter slide without having a say, turns to me, "I understand where she's coming from," He nods at Beryl, "But I don't think that moving just yet is really necessary."

Now Beryl turns to me, "What do you think we should do then?" She asks me. Her mischievous grin makes me wonder if she deliberately said that just so I would have to choose between the two of them.

I can feel Flint's eyes boring into me as I try to think. Like, I didn't really want to show favouritism to anybody but if I solely sided with one person then the other would feel left out and ignored, which I didn't want.

What to do, what to do…

"Flint," I ask, "How long were you thinking of staying here?"

"Hadn't really decided," He mutters, "Another day or so wouldn't do us any harm."

"I think that seems fair enough," I try and adopt a authoritative tone, despite my position here, "We can move tomorrow, if that's okay with you Beryl."

Most people would view me as the weakest tribute in this alliance, since I had no fighting skills and was due to give birth any day. My hand instinctively goes to clasp my stomach gently, pulling it back when I feel a kick in my stomach. If only the escort hadn't picked my name this year, then my child's life wouldn't be put at risk like this.

Beryl put her hands on her waist, "Fine, whatever, but if we get attacked by mutant trees, I'm blaming you guys," Smirking at the possibility of mutt trees attacking us, she saunters over to grab a backpack, "Are we going anywhere today? Please say yes; it's so boring sitting here doing nothing all day."

That's when Flint laughs harshly, "I can't believe you. We're in the Hunger Games and you're complaining about being bored?" He shakes his head in irritation as some of his fringe falls in front of his eyes, "Would you like me to provide you with some entertainment, Beryl? Maybe juggle a bit?"

Beryl looks at Flint with a expression of mock astonishment, "Wait, did you actually use my name for once? You know, Beryl? I've don't think you've ever done that before."

Flint remains unimpressed, "Is this such a great achievement that you felt the need to point that out?"

Beryl pretends to consider this for a moment before nodding, "Why yes, yes it is."

Getting more than slightly annoyed at being ignored, I cough pointedly, "If you two ladies don't mind, shall we be off now? Our food supplies aren't going to last forever and we're in a forest; there'll be loads of berries and such lying around."

Beryl giggles at me labelling Flint as a 'lady' which quickly turns into a very fake, obvious bout of coughing when Flint glares at her, "Sounds like a plan," She manages to get out once she has stopped trying to stifle her laughter.

"Let's go then," I say, outstretching my arms for Flint and Beryl to take hold of. Beryl, shoving her 'weapon' into her backpack, takes my left hand immediately and starts to hum something. I'm not entirely sure what it's meant to be, but it sounds vaguely familiar and catchy.

"Beryl, what are you singing?" I ask her while smiling.

The District Three girl just shrugs, "Dunno, I just heard it somewhere and it sounded cool, so I decided to hum it." Then she starts skipping away, inadvertently dragging me along with her, "Come on Flint, join in the fun."

Flint looks at Beryl like she's crazy, but his sceptical look disappears once I outstretch my free hand, "Yeah Flint, don't want to miss out on all of the fun, do you now?"

I punctuate this with a wink and laugh when he looks away, a slight blush starting to appear on his cheeks. Poor Flint, having the attention of a girl like me.

Noticing Flint's apparent moment of weakness, Beryl pipes in, "Aww, are you and Hayley dating now?" She asks excitedly, "That would be so cool," Grinning like mad, she launches into her new song, "Flint and Hayley, sittin' in the tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

Judging by the expression on Flint's face, this was going to be a very long day for him. It's almost like the thought of dating me is humiliating.

Well, I guess that if anybody from District Eleven was here, they'd say the same thing.

…

"We're lost, aren't we?"

Beryl's voice disturbs the silence like a pebble dropped into a lake. Flint and I exchange glances, unwilling to admit that we were lost. As in, we couldn't find the pirate ship structure again. Somewhere, we must have made a wrong turning since the numbers of toys and playground sets had been steadily decreasing. The only path that was available was the one that we were on now. We didn't really have much choice but to follow this path since the thicket was far too thick to travel though without having your clothes ripped to shreds. I doubted that it led back to camp but since we had most of our useful supplies on us, it wasn't too much of a big deal. What was worrying was the fact that none of us knew what was waiting for us. Then again, you never knew what might happen here.

"We can't actually get lost here," Flint points out, "In case you've forgotten, we're in the arena. And I'm pretty sure that if the Gamemakers don't want us to return to our camp, then we're not returning to camp."

Beryl doesn't make her response to this very clear, but under her breath I think I can hear her mutter, "The Gamemakers don't always get what they want."

Ignoring Beryl's words, I direct my next question at Flint, "What makes you think that the Gamemakers are controlling where we're moving?"

He gestures with one hand to the ridiculously thick foliage of bushes that prevented us from straying off this path, "Can we go anywhere else? The only way that we can move on from here is by going down here," Flint points down the path that we were currently on. Then he looks behind me, "Look, we can't even go backwards. It's obvious that they are leading us to other tributes." Turning around, I'm treated to the sight of vines and roots growing over the path, slowly but surely making the path impassable. Coupled with the low growing branches that were only a few feet above my head and the fact that we had no choice in where we were going, the forest seemed to be closing in on us, trapping us. Well, it wasn't as if it could do any damage. After all, I could stop any plants that tried to attack us. I was willing to bet that none of my allies could say the same thing, not like that was meant to be taken offensively.

"Brilliant," Beryl makes no attempts to hide her sarcasm when the forest floor has stopped moving, "For all we know, we could be walking straight into the Career's camp and there isn't a thing that we can do about it. Somebody tell me that isn't what we're basically doing."

Nobody tries telling Beryl otherwise, which only earns us a sigh as she runs a hand though her brown curls, "Great, I guess we're on the great big Gamemakers' Tour then," Adapting a official tone, she proceeds to point out some of the plant bushes that you could see, as if she was guiding someone around the arena, "Currently, we are heading down this rather smooth and flat path, which contrasts greatly with the thicket here. We would be moving though the thicket but currently, it looks impossible to cross."

This was the point where me and Flint exchange the _is she being serious _looks that we have been doing for the last couple of hours. Sure, a few of Beryl's quirks were quite funny to witness, but she was broadcasting our location to anybody within a half-mile of us with how 'quiet' she was being.

"And here, we are introduced to a new type of bush here, otherwise known as the blueberry bush, I think. Isn't it just fascinating?" Beryl continues her tour, practically shouting now. She then to a bush that held anything but blueberries in its grip.

"Could you be any louder?" Flint asks, glaring at a sparrow that had flown away from us as we entered the clearing, "We're never going to find anything to eat if you keep scaring off everything."

"Oh, don't be so pessimistic. Bushes can't walk anywhere. What's the worst that one can do, scratch us with a leaf as we walk past?" Beryl nods her head wisely, smirking at the anger that flashes in Flint's eyes for a second. If I was Beryl, I'd be careful about annoying Flint too much. Okay, we were technically supposed to be getting along but it was the Hunger Games and the two of them were not district partners. Not like Flint and Adele got along too well either or anything.

I do wish that Beryl would learn the fine art of being quiet though. Her unsubtle ways were alerting any animals in the area as to our presence and although I didn't really want to be gutting a animal and eating it, we would have to try and kill one for food sometime. Even though the mere thought of even touching a dead animal was enough to make me feel sick. Imagine prodding a dead person. No normal person would willingly want to do such a thing so what was so different about dissecting a rabbit or a deer? It was still degrading a body by mutilating it. Not to mention that it was just revolting and disgusting in general.

Beryl, still looking satisfied at managing to aggravate Flint, plucks a few of the ''blueberries'' and is about to put them in her mouth before I tap her lightly on the shoulder, "You know, I really wouldn't eat those if I were you."

Surprised that I would be concerned about what she was eating, she drops the berries. They gleam in the afternoon light, seeming to wink at you like eyes, "What are you talking about? They're only blueberries," Then she hesitates, being unsure of wherever she was correct or not, "Wait, blueberries are edible, right? At least that was what the training instructor told me…" Beryl then trails off, screwing up her face in concentration as she tried to remember what little knowledge she had gleaned from the days at the Training Centre.

"That's not a blueberry," I inform her primly, "It's a privot berry, which are poisonous," Picking up a berry, I examine it more closely, "I can see where you got confused though. Both berries do have a similar colour and shape."

Beryl shrugs, "Well I guess you would know, being from the agriculture district and everything," She kicks a stray twig and watches as it flies though the air and into the bushes, "Are any of these berries edible? We've hardly found anything."

I glance around, trying to see if any of the berries weren't poisonous. No such luck. All that the bushes contained were privot and nightshade berries, which I wouldn't touch if I was starving.

Morosely, I shake my head, "Not unless you want to poison yourself."

Beryl looks slightly put out at the fact that we had been searching for hours without finding anything, "Well then, we might as well continue with the touring."

"No!" Me and Flint say desperately at the same time, something which makes Beryl laugh.

"Wow, you guys must really ha – "

She stops talking suddenly when we realise that we can still hear laughter, even though me, Flint and even Beryl had sobered up. All of us turn as still and as quiet as the tree trunks seemed to be as we tried to locate the source of the laughing. Something which was becoming very difficult to do since the person/ mutt had shut up.

Beryl takes a couple of steps forwards, since the sound seemed to have come from that direction. Well, it's not like anybody could attack us from behind, was it? After all, there was a impregnable wall of plants blocking the way for anybody. The Gamemakers had really gone all-out with the gardening this year, hadn't they? Nothing could attack us from behind and if anyone did come charging though now, we would be able to see them coming and prepare.

Or rather, Flint and Beryl would be preparing to attack, since they actually had weapons and were in a far better condition to fight than me. There was no way that I would be able to hold my own in a fight against any of the remaining tributes. At least, that was what everybody else thought, anyway. But now that I was in my domain, in the forest surrounded by so much life, I had a good chance at surviving. Here, the plants seemed to sing out to me as much as any song could. Something that comforted me.

It was too bad that the brief feeling of comfort I had felt was just that; brief. Gone like a bird flying though the air as without any warning, I felt a rough hand cover my mouth. Looks like I had been wrong about not having someone attack me from behind then. But how had anybody been able to fight their way though that without us noticing?

My questions are answered as my head is jerked backwards, giving me a good look at the canopy that was close enough for me to touch. Meaning that it was close enough for somebody to jump down from and attack me from behind. I can hear Flint cursing quietly as another person jumps down from the tree that they must have been hiding in. His cursing only gets louder when someone runs away from here, down the path that we hadn't explored yet. I can tell that someone's running by the thud-thud-thud of feet against the forest floor, steadily getting quieter. Beryl.

Well it must be, she's the only other person apart from Flint that's even been remotely friendly to me during my time here. And besides, it wouldn't make any sense for our attackers to be running away. It's not like me and Flint were capable of taking on larger alliances, despite what strengths we may have. But why had Beryl ran away? Had she figured that the people who now have me hostage were too much for us to defeat? I had thought that Beryl would be a little bit more loyal than that. Well, not loyal exactly, but less willing to leave an alliance this early on. Surely she must know that she won't make it much further if she doesn't have an alliance. It didn't make any sense.

Those thoughts are swept away from my head as my eyes catch a flash of silver, before I feel the cold, unrelenting blade of a knife being pressed against my throat. Fear then sets in, bitter and unpleasant like a hot wind as reality kicks in. I'm about to die here. Soon, it will be my cannon firing when the person decides to slide that knife across my throat like a twisted version of a kiss.

I can't see anything but various shades of green, yellow and white, separated by lines of dark brown that must be the tree branches. Merging together to make up a beautiful canopy of colour. It's actually quite nice considering that it may well be one of the last things that I see before I court Death.

If only I had remembered to look up earlier.

* * *

**I decided to switch up the POVs a little bit, as you have probably gathered by now. Hope you liked this chapter :)**

**Oh by the way, I am going to have a sequel to Out of the Blue and this time, I am going to let a few people submit tributes (but I'm not accepting submissions via review. Got to keep the tributes a surprise from everyone else ;P). If you want the form, feel free to ask :)  
**


	20. She-Wolf

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)**

Chapter Nineteen

**_Third Person_**

"Don't resist."

It's the two words that the boy has to keep telling the girl, although he knows that his words would be wasted on the struggling District Eleven tribute. He was well aware of the fact that his prey would refuse to give up, would keep struggling against him, would still believe that they could win until he inevitably killed them. That didn't make restraining the tribute any more fun, however.

Ignoring his advice, Hayley tried to stamp on his foot, hoping to distract her captor and escape. However, he sees it coming and deftly moves his foot out of the way. The girl hisses in frustration as her foot hits the ground, hurting or distracting nobody but herself.

"I said, don't resist," The boy moves his knife down from Hayley's throat to her protruding stomach, making his threat obvious, "Do I need to make myself any clearer?"

It was an empty threat, said in a monotone voice, since he had no intention of going out of his way to hurt someone when stabbing them in the heart or sliding a knife across their throat was far quicker. Not that his prisoner knew that or anything.

Hayley's breathing was coming out in short, shallow pants as she tried and failed to conceal her fear. She didn't recognise the voice of the person who currently had her life in his hands. Hayley could tell that it was a boy, but as to what his name was or which district he came from, she had no idea. It didn't really matter what the answers to those questions were. Hayley was still here, with her life hanging on the goodwill of a stranger and with her two allies currently occupied. One had ran away, betraying the alliance seemingly without a second thought, while Flint, the District Six boy, was busy engaged in a fight with Bailey, the District Nine girl. However, Hayley remained oblivious to this, having her head being yanked backwards by her hair so that she couldn't move her head. That didn't stop her from hearing the sounds of fighting, didn't prevent misery from slowly taking over her as she realised that nobody was going to come to her rescue. Hayley already knew that life wasn't like what it was in the fairy tales, she knew that life wouldn't present itself on a silver platter, but she felt disappointed all the same. Disappointment among the fear that was seeping into her.

Meanwhile, Flint was busy trying to hit Bailey with one of his golf clubs. He was well aware of the fact that he probably looked like a complete idiot, trying to kill someone who was armed with a very sharp piece of plastic with a pathetic-looking golf club. It was a good thing – for Flint anyway – that the golf club was capable of knocking out somebody if he swung it hard enough at somebody's head.

All he needed was a shot at Bailey's head and he could take her out of the competition for good. One good hit and he could retrieve the shard that Bailey was using and shove it straight though her heart. Sure, he had never killed anybody before but really, how hard could it be? The action itself wasn't difficult to do and the girl was trying to kill him. Why should he care about her welfare? It wasn't like she was going out of her way to make sure he was okay or anything.

Swinging his golf club at his opponent's head, he grinds his teeth in frustration when Bailey dodges yet again. She might not be very strong, but boy was she fast. He hadn't managed to hit her once while she had managed to scrape her weapon – a piece of plastic that looked suspiciously like she had snapped it off a toy sword – down his arm hard enough to draw blood. Little beads of red were welling up in the cut and it stung like a wasp's sting, but Flint ignored it. Pain was a guarantee here and crying over every little cut that you got wouldn't magically make it better. On the contrary, it was far more likely to lead to your death. When you compared it to death, a little bit of pain was irrelevant.

"Why don't you just give up?" Bailey asks, the slightest note of curiosity in her voice, "You can't win."

"What makes you say that then?" Flint answers Bailey's question with one of his own, "The odds could go either way."

Bailey looks at him, her expression blank to the less observant. Only the people who looked closely would see the calculation behind her brown eyes, assessing what Flint had said and the way he was standing. Silently, she noted the way that he positioned himself on the ground too heavily, with the soles of his feet flat. It wouldn't be very difficult for somebody to defeat him if he lost his balance, since his stance allowed no room for him to regain control if somebody did push him. It wasn't something that many people would have picked up; not even Flint was aware of what he was doing.

"You can't win," Bailey repeated in a determined voice, "My ally has already defeated yours. You really think that you can beat both of us?" A sceptical look crosses her face, "You're just lucky that he hasn't bothered to kill her yet."

Flint directs his next question at the District Nine boy, "Why are you keeping her alive anyway?" He asks in a slightly reluctant tone, as if worried that questioning the motives of his enemies would force Jack's hand and cause the death of Hayley.

Jack narrows his eyes at Flint, who was too busy looking at Bailey suspiciously to notice this, "None of your business," He snaps, although he quickly glances over at Bailey fearfully, unsure of if he was allowed to reveal their motives to Flint and Hayley.

This does not go unnoticed by Flint, who thinks that the District Nine boy seems to be scared, almost, of his district partner. He isn't sure as to why he thinks this though, since he has no idea of what Bailey is capable of, but he might as well listen to whatever feeling seemed to be telling him this. Underestimating your opponents was never a good idea.

"We need her because you seem to have formed some form of emotional attachment to her during the period of time that you have been allies," Bailey answers in a robotic tone, not bothering to sugar-coat her words, "You would be less likely to try and hurt us if we were in any position to hurt your ally."

"So you're saying that you don't care about your ally then," Flint says, "As you act like caring for them is a bad thing – "

"It is a bad thing," Bailey interrupts harshly, "You two are not even from the same district. If you think that your alliance will end well then you are deluded. I say that your other 'ally' had the right idea, running away when she got the chance."

"Leave her alone," Flint raises his voice as he suddenly swings his golf club at Bailey, aiming it at her head. Unprepared, she reacts too late to completely miss the blow and she hisses slightly as the metal makes contact with her shoulder. It doesn't cause any serious injury but the impact had definitely hurt Bailey somewhat. The attack also managed to shift her mood from indifferent and bored to annoyed. It's her turn to glare at Flint; such an idiot shouldn't be this hard to take out.

"I don't think I will," Bailey snarls at him, "Don't think that we'll go easy on her just because she's pregnant. She's still in the Games, you know."

Flint's shock at this is evident to Bailey, although he makes an effort to hide this. Before he can speak, she adds, "And if you tell me that killing her is wrong, you can save your breath. I don't care; she's only another animal that has to die anyway."

Hayley, being able to hear every word that was being exchanged, started to struggle more violently in Jack's grip. Because he was more focused on Bailey and Flint, he was anything but ready for Hayley's sudden burst of defiance and in his surprise, he lets go of her. Impulsively, she whirls around and punches him in the chest, the force behind the impact pushing him against the tree that he had ambushed Hayley from.

He quickly recovers and glowers at Hayley, annoyed at the fact that she had actually managed to escape him, "Oh, that's it," He says menacingly, his quiet words only contributing to the tension that was thick like smoke in the air. Stroking his knife – the only real weapon that the District Nine tributes had – he slowly advances towards his prey, "You'll regret doing that, Hayliana."

Her eyes flicker to the bushes that surrounded the District Nine boy, a thoughtful expression on her face. She knew that she wasn't as defenceless as everybody thought she was, but Hayley was reluctant to endanger herself by having everybody see her as a threat. But her life was in danger _now_, and her ally was trying to get rid of these two tributes. Why did it matter if they saw her fight back for once? They wouldn't spread the information around, would they? None of them would get the chance if the events went her way.

Surely Flint would understand that she had to use what few advantages she had, right? But Hayley was doubtful about this. She had thought that she was cruising though life without any problems at all. Who wouldn't when you had everything that any District Eleven citizen could hope for? Money, plenty of friends and a guaranteed job as one of the secretaries in the Justice Building when she was old enough. Hayley had no need to worry, so she didn't.

All of that had changed though, thanks to one little slip up on Hayley's behalf. At the time, Hayley had thought herself untouchable, with a confidence that occasionally veered into arrogance. And it was that arrogance that had left her with her unborn child, with no idea as to who the biological father was. That tiny little fact that done wonders for her reputation and her life, and it wasn't meant in a good way, either. Her friends had all disappeared, not wanting to be around a 'slut' like Hayley, and Hayley had been subjected to the meaner side of people when she was on her own. Even her own family felt uncomfortable, not being able to handle this blow to their reputation and still love their daughter at the same time.

Yes, this child had definitely caused Hayley a lot of trouble, and she knew that her child wasn't directly to blame for the events that had made her such an outcast among her district. However, she couldn't shake off the slight resentment that she felt towards that baby. It had nothing to do with the personality of her child – who the Capitol doctors had said was a girl – because Hayley had no idea of if her child would even get the chance to be born. The only thing that made Hayley harbour resentful thoughts towards her daughter was all of the drama and stress that she had caused. Because deep down, Hayley was still just a teenager and wasn't prepared to grow up yet. It was no surprise that she felt this way, still felt that her old life was more important than this girl who wasn't planned to exist. Even a harsh slap on the face by reality hadn't entirely dimmed her old persona.

This time, it was Bailey's irritated words that brought Hayley back to the arena, "Are you telling me that you couldn't even restrain Hayliana?" She sighs in exasperation at her district partner while ducking to avoid another swing of Flint's club, "If you don't hurry up, I'll do the job for you."

Jack's eyes flicker over to Hayley, regarding her carefully, "If I were you, I'd give up now," He warns her quietly, so quietly that Hayley almost missed his words, "You really don't want to die at her hands."

"I don't want to die at anyone's hands," Hayley croaks out, not taking her eyes off the gleaming of light on Jack's knife.

His facial expression doesn't change, "I could have figured that out by now," He mutters, "But which do you think is quicker; my knife or the plastic that Bailey has?"

A pained gasp from Flint punctuates his words as Bailey managed to plunge her weapon into Flint's thigh, managing to dig the plastic a few inches into his skin. Remaining largely unfazed by this, Flint grabs the hand that was gripping the plastic shard and uses this to pull Bailey towards him, having every intention of trapping her and snapping her neck. However, Bailey sees this coming and shoves herself into Flint, meaning that he ends up losing his balance.

Grinning, Bailey yanks her weapon out of Flint's wound and prepares to stab Flint again with it, "You lost," She informs Flint triumphantly, "Or, as the Capitol puts it so neatly, the odds were not in your favour," Her confidence in winning the fight was evident with every word that she said, right down to her use of past tense when talking about Flint.

"Incoming!"

With a loud shout, Beryl came crashing from the canopy, landing squarely on Bailey's back and using her momentum to roll Bailey off Flint. While Bailey was off-guard, Beryl scrambles to her feet and draws her toy cutlass in a attempt to appear threatening. Jack and Hayley exchange glances, their fight temporarily forgotten in the face of Beryl's unexpected arrival. After all, everybody had presumed that she had just abandoned her allies. However, Beryl – in her mind – had a far better plan than simply ditching her allies on Day Two.

"Beryl, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Flint's disbelief at Beryl's arrival and willingness to use the cutlass offensively is obvious in the confused expression that he gives her.

The District Three girl just smiles with fake innocence, apparently not bothered by the presence of the District Nine tributes, "Oh, I just happened to be stepping in to prevent your imminent death, that's all," She swings around her polystyrene 'weapon' experimentally, not looking like she was in any state to save anybody's life in the slightest.

Bailey notices this and just laughs, "We're still here," She takes her time getting to her feet while she speaks, "And you'll be saving no one's life with that thing. What's the worst that you can do, poke my eye out?"

"Don't tempt me," Beryl replies with a smirk, "I am totally awesome with cutlasses. You know, I really should have scored a twelve in the private sessions."

Bailey just rolled her eyes, not bothering to dignify Beryl's comment with an answer, preferring to take a step backwards while glancing over at what Flint was doing. At the moment, he was pressing both hands against his wound while shooting daggers at the District Nine girl. While he was mildly wounded, Flint was angry enough to attempt at least one more attempt at killing Bailey, something that she was well aware of.

"You know what?" She snapped, clearly fed up with Beryl and Flint, "I thought that maybe if we took you three by surprise, you could have died without this unnecessary waste of time," Bailey seemed more annoyed at the fact that her enemies were wasting her time rather than the fact that they were trying to kill her, "But you've really done it now, Beryllium."

"It's Beryl, if you must know. God, how many times must I tell ev – " Beryl stops talking when Bailey's hands literally turned into flames. Transfixed by the orange-red flickering of the fire that was cradling Bailey's hands, she stays quiet in a mixture of horror and awe. Awe because Beryl was witnessing first-hand how the Capitol could defy the laws of biology by giving a human girl power over fire, and horror because fire did not have a tendency of giving its' victims quick deaths.

Hayley unconsciously takes a step back, now realising what Jack meant by having a choice between a death at his hands or a death caused by Bailey.

And so they stood, in a deformed semicircle around this girl who had the ability to ignite her surroundings into merciless flames, destroying all of the verdant life that the Gamemakers had cultivated in their little House of Horrors.

Bailey just smiles smugly, "You really should have just shut up."


	21. Burned

**The 79th Hunger Games**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea for the Hunger Games :)**

Chapter Twenty

**_Beryl Streep, _**

**_District Three,_**

"Make me," I challenge Bailey, crossing my arms over my chest defiantly.

Okay, I'll admit that being rude to someone that could blast a fireball straight into you wasn't the smartest idea, but since when had I ever held back in saying anything? People just loved me putting my two cents worth into everything and I didn't see why I should stop now. Besides, I may as well leave this world the same way I came in; pissing somebody off. Well I must have irritated my parents enough for them to abandon me, mustn't I? Although I really shouldn't be thinking about my parents' motivations behind leaving me, since I was facing a girl who could very well end my life.

Was I scared? No, but there was a strange excitement bubbling inside me as I faced this new threat. Because even if this fight killed me, I couldn't say that I wouldn't enjoy it. The fighting and hopefully defeating my enemy part, not the actual killing, that is. Seriously, could somebody explain how sticking a knife into a person was any more 'thrilling' or 'fun' than attacking a training dummy? Personally, I didn't get it and I wasn't really in a hurry to find out any time soon.

Bailey just cocked her head slightly at me, "You're an odd girl, aren't you?" She inquires with a slight mocking tone to her words, "Here I am, in a position to kill you and both of your allies, and yet that doesn't appear to stop you from making your rude little comments."

"You're surprised at this?" Of course, Flint just has to make one insulting comment in this situation. I suppose it was beating what Hayley was doing right now. How was staring starry-eyed at the forest going to help us, exactly?

Bailey just shakes her head in response to Flint's question and raises her hands in the direction that Hayley was standing. It was apparent that she hadn't been bluffing when she said that she didn't have any qualms about killing Hayley. The unnatural fire radiating from her hands flares up and I could tell that she wasn't going to waste any more of her time talking to us. Hayley's eyes widen in fear and she takes a step back, her eyes darting around the forest, probably looking for somewhere to run to. However, Jack's hand closing around her wrist prevents her from going anywhere.

This earns Jack a slight smile from Bailey, something which clearly unnerves him, "Bailey, are you sure that you're not going to burn me with that as well?" I presumed that he was worried about Bailey burning his wrist off in the process of killing Hayley.

I can hear Flint muttering something that sounded less than complimentary about Jack, but I can't quite make out specific sentences since Bailey's voice overrides his complaining, "You'll be fine. Just let go of her at the last second or something," Her dismissive tone tells me everything I need to know about how much she cares – or rather, how much she doesn't care – about her district partner. I'm guessing that the fact district partners could win wasn't much of a big deal to her. Either that, or she was one of those tributes that didn't want to share the 'prize' of being a victor with anybody else.

Jack opens his mouth again, but Bailey manages to shut him up when she narrows her eyes at Hayley, fed up with waiting around for us mere tributes who were _clearly_ standing in the way of her becoming victor. In the split second before Bailey launched the fireball, Hayley shoves against Jack, an action that contrasts with her previous struggles. Her sudden acceleration forward catches him off-guard and both tributes end up on the floor, neither of them daring to move as the fireball scorches the air above them. Everybody watches in silence as the unfortunate tree that happened to be in the way took the full force of the impact.

After the initial impact from the fireball had dissipated, the tree still appeared to be standing. Actually, it appeared to be completely unaffected by the flames that had attacked it just moments earlier. Had the Gamemakers made the plants fireproof this year? That didn't sound like something that they would do; you couldn't have any forest fires with flame-retardant plants, could you? My impressions change almost immediately as the effects of the 'fire' make themselves apparent. At closer observation, you could see the flames licking away at the tree, burrowing down into the centre of the tree and eating away at it from the inside-out. You could hear an odd hissing sound as the bark was slowly reduced to ash. From what I knew, fire didn't act like that. Fire didn't have any pattern, any order, except to incinerate everything in its' path to nothing. And it definitely didn't hiss like a cauldron, I could tell you that much.

"Bailey," I ask, my eyes transfixed on the fire that was now slowly reforming into a strange liquid the colour of amber at the roots of the tree, "I don't think that's fire."

"You're right; it's not," She replies, not sounding the slightest bit affected by her supernatural abilities, "It's some sort of acidic chemical. Well, at least that was what I was told, anyway," It then occurs to me that she wouldn't have any idea of what kind of acid had been used to make the weapon that she now wielded. District Nine was not a scientific paradise, and it was highly unlikely that she had ever seen any refined chemicals before, let alone use them.

"Oh, even better," My sarcasm is tangible, "I feel so reassured now, since it's so obvious that you know what that stuff does. Did you bring a copy of your instruction manual with you?"

"No, I don't need one," She replies in the same monotone voice that she had maintained for almost the entire conversation, "But I'm sure that watching this power kill you will teach all of us something new, won't it now?"

I've already dived out of the way before the last word has left her lips, meaning that her attack takes over the space that I had occupied mere moments ago. However, I hadn't acted fast enough to completely avoid it, and I can feel a weird burning sensation in my back, where I only had these stupid overalls protecting my back. Overalls that would prove useless against this corrosive fire. It was easy to ignore at the moment, since I hadn't been subjected to the full force of Bailey's attack, but who knew what that stuff would do to your nervous system in the long run.

Flat on the floor, with my back tingling like crazy, I'm in no position to dodge another attack and she knows this. Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see another burst of flame grow in her hands and I know that she's going to try and kill me again, but Flint decides that it's a good time to attack Bailey with his bare hands, judging by the muffled protest she makes and the light suddenly being cut off as she tried to fend off this new threat. Inconvenient it may be for her, but it gave me enough time to stand up and assess the scene that was playing out before my eyes, as well as give me some time to see if my back would hinder me too much in surviving. Cautiously, I use one hand to feel my back, seeing if the fabric had been damaged by the fire. The fabric felt worn and frayed under my fingers, and I can feel warm blood pouring out of several tears in the overalls. Clearly, the fire had damaged my skin, although the full extent of the damage remained a mystery. It wasn't like I could see what had happened for myself, since I didn't have eyes in the back of my head or whatever.

No smoke was being created by the fire that was slowly eating away at the trees that had been set on fire, which was only further showing how unnatural this ability of Bailey's truly was. I had no idea about why Bailey had been given this power. Okay, it was pretty obvious that this was all because of the Gamemakers, unless people from District Nine was now developing superpowers all of a sudden, but why they had chosen Bailey remained a mystery. Unless they had chosen more 'lucky' tributes to receive such abilities. It wasn't something that everyone had, since I didn't remember having anyone give me powers or instruct me on what they did. Somehow, I doubted that Bailey and Jack would be very forthcoming if I asked them about who else the Gamemakers had picked – we were currently engaged in battle here. Well, Flint and Hayley were, anyway. I was just casually milling around and not doing anything, still trying to figure out how serious my injuries were.

As far as high-octane fighting went, this wasn't my best moment, I'll admit. I'm injured and I haven't even managed to inflict a scratch on my opponents.

A hiss from Jack draws my attention back to the dispute between him and my ally. None of them had managed to injure each other very much, but the strange amber liquid that the fire was creating seemed to be creating enough of a problem on its own. The two tributes had been too busy being caught up in their fight to notice the liquid approach them, and now Jack's arm, which had been briefly in contact with the acid, was now starting to blister and turn red. Whatever substance that stuff was made of must react fast, and I quickly hurry over there to try and help Hayley get away from the acid before it could affect her. She didn't resist as I tried to drag her away from this new danger.

Note the word 'tried'; I hadn't been using the three days of training to improve my strength, not like it would have made much of a difference anyway, and I was still as pathetic in the muscles department as ever. Therefore, dragging a seventeen-year old girl who was paralysed with fear away from something was no small task for me. I guess the fact that I was gawking at the acid wasn't helping much either, but it was hard to look away as Jack's reaction to the liquid became more obvious. Not only did it appear to inflame your skin, it also ate away at it. Like with the tree, it seemed to burrow down though the thin layers of skin. It wasn't long before you could see bone. Unsurprisingly enough, Jack wasn't exactly just standing there like a mannequin and saying nothing while he watched the acid work away at him, oh no.

"Bailey!" It was impossible to miss the note of desperation in Jack's voice as he pleaded to his ally that had indirectly injured him, "Do something!"

Kicking Flint away from her, Bailey manages to pull herself up, "Are you kidding me? You're dead already."

"You're the one who caused this. Can't you do anything?"

A harsh laugh is the only response that his pleas get, which only further proves my suspicions of how little Bailey cared for Jack. Evidently, the fact that he happened to be her district partner – meaning that she didn't have to kill him to win – didn't mean much to her. It seemed wasteful, but since I hadn't known Jack, and had no desire to, it only benefited me. Why should I care about his impending death when it only removed one of the twenty four obstacles that had been in my way at the start of the Games?

Bailey, realising that she couldn't win with the odds being three to one, backs up a few steps, her eyes calmly glancing around the clearing in hopes of finding an escape. This does not escape Jack's notice.

"You're leaving me?" Betrayal seeps into his tone as Bailey's intentions become clear to him, "You're not even going to try and help?"

"Oh good, you managed to figure out what I'm doing," She replies mockingly, "You always were slow to catch onto things."

Flint, who had been eyeing Bailey warily, takes a step forwards, "You're not going anywhere," He growls.

"I beg to differ," Bailey replies dismissively, not even bothering to glance at Flint, "Now, since my ally is slowly disintegrating into nothing, I don't have any reason to stick around."

"Wow, aren't you nice?" I interrupt, "Firstly, you try and kill me and my allies, and now you're going to betray your own district partner and leave him for dead. I would love to invite you around for a cup of tea and cookies," I realised that I had let go of Hayley, since she had managed to scramble to a seated position, her eyes wide.

Bailey's eyes light up at my words, the calculating gleam in them immediately putting me on edge, "Oh no, I can't have that," She says, "I can't have everyone thinking that you're more likely to win than me, just because you managed to kill someone. Have you killed anybody yet?" She tilts her head slightly to the side as she observes me.

"Not really."

"That's not a surprise then," She says, "And I'm not letting you start now."

Before we can ask what she means by this, she outstretches her palms and sends a fireball straight into Jack. It happened so fast that I barely managed to comprehend it. One minute, he was scrambling around in the bushes, presumably looking for some plants to heal his injuries, next minute he was nothing but an inferno, silhouetted against the piercing orange flames. He arched his back as he writhed around, trying to lessen the pain in some way. Of course, his attempts were futile. Five seconds after her betrayal, his cannon fires.

Bailey just smiles, "I'll leave you three alone now," She smirks, her eyes trained on something behind me and Hayley, "I doubt that I'll ever have the misfortune to see you again."

"How do you figure that, then?" Hayley pipes up, her voice shaky from fear.

Bailey points a finger to whatever was behind me, "You'll be too busy dealing with that to be concerned about me."

Risking a glance behind me, I can see the acid that the fire produced creeping up behind us. It had spread out behind the tree that had been initially targeted, and you could see the thick shrubbery burn away into nothingness. Jumping over that liquid to safety would be suicide, since the pool of acid was far too wide to traverse over. Flames were dancing on the surface of the acid, enticing us into our deaths. I can hear the pounding of feet against the ground and a frustrated hiss from Flint, indicating that Bailey had left. Come to think of it, now would be a good time to make our daring escape too.

Grabbing Hayley's hand, I try and pull her to her feet. However, I have to give up after the strain that it placed upon my back became too much for me to handle. It felt like the flames were actually scorching my back now, alerting my body to the fact that I had been injured, and I drop Hayley's hands as I grit my teeth against the pain. Was this how being burnt felt like? If it was, I didn't enjoy the sensation, although that was no surprise.

"Come on, we need to move," I manage to get out, and she complies willingly, actually managing to stand up and move away from this new danger. The acid was moving lazily across the forest floor towards us, blocking off any other routes to go down except for the obvious path that Bailey must have taken.

I was really getting fed up of the Gamemakers controlling where we were going. It wasn't like they were going to lead us to some safe heaven, was it? However, we didn't have a lot of choice. When the options you had were limited to either being burned alive for sure or walking down the route to less-than-certain death, you'd take the second option. Well, I hoped that it was less-than-certain death anyway, but for all I knew, I could die in this arena anyway. I guess that was one thing that I had learnt from today: you didn't need to just watch out for the other tributes. You had to avoid the Capitol's wrath as well. They were the ones with the power in their hands. Not that I had ever taken that into consideration before when I had dealt with the Peacekeepers in District Three and the Gamemakers.

So why change my ways now?


End file.
